Broken
by Atlantislux
Summary: Athrun Zala knew he could not mend the mistakes he made in the past, but he thought the war was over. He was wrong. And the past will return to haunt him in the form of a dear friend believed dead.
1. Execution

Notes: this story is divided into two parts: one set in the past, during the wars of 71 and 73 CE, and the other ten years in the future, with a couple of giant divergences from the canon.  
Don't blame me, I'm a fangirl, after all ;)

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**Execution**

**_Aprilius__ One__, December 13, C.E. 81_**

"Dearka. You're hopeless."

The amethyst eyes of the young officer casted an ironic look at his former teammate. "Athrun. Stop it, or I'll start to believe you're jealous."

A faint smile crossed Athrun's lips. "Me? For what reason? Look, you've already risked to lose Miri once. What the hell are you waiting to seriously propose to her? "

"With a ring and all? Geez, how boring…" Dearka steeled himself stoically, looking at his other friend in the car to collect a bit of support, but Yzak Joule froze him with his most distinctive piercing stare.  
"Dearka, you are an idiot," he snorted. "Miriallia is a good girl, but she won't wait for you forever."

Feeling cornered, the blonde ZAFT pilot gave up. "What's wrong with you? Miri is not like that stupid Lunamaria who quit a promising career to run after Shinn. Miri travels extensively for her work and she loves it. A formal marriage is absolutely premature for us. Beside, she knows I love her!" Dearka exclaimed, crossing his arms to his chest.

Athrun and Yzak exchanged a smile. Then, the blue-haired Admiral nodded to Dearka. "You're defending your case providing the wrong example. You perfectly know that both mine and Yzak's wife have successful professional lives even if they are raising a family. Now, do you want us to believe Cagalli and Shiho are smarter than Miriallia?" Athrun asked with an ironic grin.

"Oh, I hate when you two join forces against me," Dearka burst out, while a giant smile on his face denied his annoyance.

The three friends of a lifetime laughed simultaneously, and Athrun was grateful to have accepted Kira's invitation to spend a few days on Aprilius One, while the brown-haired Coordinator was visiting Orb to know his nieces, two adorable twins carbon copy of their mother. They were only few months old, and Athrun had not left Orb willingly, not wanting to miss a moment of the life of his princesses. But he had businesses to tend on Aprilius One, and so he had took the chance to grant Kira some days to enjoy the company of his sister and nieces, while he filled Kira's role in escorting Lacus Clyne.

Lazily, Athrun looked out of the vehicle he was riding on. It was running moderately fast, in the procession of cars carrying Lacus Clyne, and the former Prime Minister of the Eurasian Federation, to the building hosting the Supreme Council of PLANT. Aprilius One had not changed at all since he lived there. Beautiful, rich, perfect in every detail of its controlled nature. Athrun had to suppressed a yawn. Accustomed to the wild landscape of Orb, now PLANT seemed to him terribly unexciting. And the traffic did not offer any distraction either.  
The vehicles proceeded at the same pace, speed controlled by a driving assistant, with very few people who dared to break the rules. Like the driver of the powerful motorcycle that, in that moment, passed his car, zigzagging across the lanes and narrowly avoiding the vehicles. Even if he knew it was dangerous, Athrun could not help but to smile, wondering if the rider was a mobile suit pilot, used to much higher speeds and as bored as he was by the slow traffic.

He turned toward his friends catching the imploring look of Dearka. Taking advantage of his silence, Yzak had steered the conversation back on more serious issues.

"That fool of Meyrin will get a formal reprimand once we return to base," the white-haired young man was saying. "She's just been appointed as chief security officer of Councilor Clyne and she already managed to make a mess in the seating assignment."

Athrun raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me, would you have preferred to be in the car with them instead of us?"

"Yes, of course. It was the occasion the get some information out of that idiotic Natural Lacus is accompanying to the Council. I'm losing precious time, and we still don't know how to get rid of him."

Yzak's voice sounded outraged, but not particularly angry, and Athrun was about to reply when the loud noise of a shooting tore the muffled silence in the car, followed by a squeal of tires.

The driver of their vehicle braked suddenly, and Athrun felt his body pressed against the seat belt. The three passengers exchanged glances. Astonished, but also hardened by many battles, they immediately overcame the surprise.

"It is an assault," Yzak stated, already moving towards the door. But before he was able to open it a second motorcycle appeared almost out of nowhere. The traffic around them was stuck, but the rider skillfully dodged the cars. He passed the one Athrun was in and, without slowing down, he fired a volley of bullets against Lacus and Meyrin's vehicle, shattering the windows.

Athrun could not choke a cry of dismay while Dearka took the lead. "Get out of here and ask for support, I follow the motorcycle!" the blond-haired young man shouted, jumping out of the car and ordering the driver to give the wheel to him.

Yzak and Athrun had just the time to obey before the vehicle sprinted away pursuing the terrorists. Knowing Dearka would not have let them flee, they rushed towards the car of their friends, whose doors flung open after a few seconds. The Natural was the first one to rush out, almost as if shoved by Lacus, who appeared behind him followed by Meyrin.

Athrun sighed with relief. They did not seem injured, but only shaken. He walked quickly towards the group with Yzak at his side, and he was about to call the former idol when the cry died on his lips.

It happened before he could even think to react.

The Natural tripped over something and fell. But before touching the ground, his head exploded like an overripe fruit. Behind him, Lacus collapsed to her knees, a shocked expression on her face and hands clasped around her throat. Stained with blood.

* * *

**_Nassau, May 25, C.E. 71_**

It was the dawn of the day of her twentieth birthday when doctor Cecilia Jesek was rudely woken up by the loud ring of her cell phone. From under the blanket a brown eye stared at the mobile, hating it with passion, but a couple of seconds later the hand of the scientist slipped out to grab the detestable thing.

"Jesek..." she managed to mumble.

The voice of the person on the other side sounded enthusiastic. "Cecilia. I need to see you. Immediately."

The young woman closed her eyes, silently cursing her boss. She hated to hear his voice so early in the morning, demanding and cheerful as only Lenk Granato could be. "Lenk, even if I arrived at nine I assure you I'd manage to clean up everyth—"

"Don't even think about it. I've great news for you. Just get down here as fast as you can."

With that, her boss closed the connection, leaving a mildly surprised Cecilia wondering what he was up to.

She arrived at destination only twenty minutes later.  
The curiosity had grown in her while she was taking a shower, even if Cecilia was unsure about what Professor Lenk Granato could tell her. Or why he sounded so joyful. All thing considered, in that very day the scientific facility where she had worked for years was going to be closed and the staff disbanded. It was her last day of work, and nothing in the previous weeks had indicated any change in the program.

Feeling suddenly depressed Cecilia sighed, pressing the button of the elevator. Once inside she looked in the mirror, trying with one hand to fix her unruly curly hair and, as usual, failing miserably in the attempt. "I'm getting old ..." she muttered, looking at her face, already tired in the early morning and ruined by many sleepless nights. All time thrown away pursuing researches that would have ended in the garbage.

The elevator doors opened, tearing Cecilia away from her thoughts, and her eyes met those of a couple of co-workers. The two stood aside to let her pass, greeting the girl with a nod. She replied the gesture, pretending not to notice the boxes full of books and other materials the men were holding. The pathetic sight made her heart bleed. That place had been her home for six years, and what was happening was definitely not right. Suffocating another useless groan, Cecilia walked along the corridor, pausing a moment in front of the door of her boss to announce herself.

He flung the door personally. "Finally! My most brilliant pupil is here," the man roared.

Cecilia replied with an almost embarrassed nod. "Good morning Lenk."

"Come in! "

She followed the man and, seating across his desk, she curiously stared at a stack of plastic folders lying on the table. They were placed right in front of Cecilia, as if they were waiting for the young scientist to come. The thought made her cast a cautious glance at her boss, who certainly did not look like a person who would have been unemployed in a few hours. On the contrary, the man appeared quite excited.

"Prof... why so happy?" the scientist asked him with a smirk.

Being the most proficient researcher of the Institute had always allowed Cecilia to say in his face almost everything. And, also, the plump Director with no family was like a father to her, who had lost her parents when she was very young. That was probably why Lenk Granato looked unimpressed by the rough question.

Instead, much to Cecilia surprise, the man burst out laughing. "Why?" he almost howled, staring at her face. "Because we can continue our researches, we got materials and funds."

The young scientist, despite her quick intelligence, took a moment to process what she had just been told. "What?" she stammered.

"Nothing will be closed today."

"But I just saw John and Jeremiah leave with their stuff!"

"Well, of course, we had to accept a reorganization, but your place is safe, don't worry."

Cecilia blinked, shaken by the sudden news. "And when you had in mind to tell us?"

"I've already called all of those involved in the new project. I've been very busy in the latest days with the negotiations, but only last night a new group stepped forward to take over our researches and save our work."

She lowered her voice. "A new group? How come? We are dependent from the Earth Alliance. Our are military projects… well, before they were put aside."

"Not anymore," Lenk told her, sounding reassuring. "The funds will be supplied from a cartel of companies that also supports the Alliance. They decided that, despite the successes achieved by the line of research on the Extended, we are allowed to continue in our work. They probably want an alternative guaranteed. It's not surprising considering how flawed that project is."

A part of Cecilia wanted to believe it, but her most realist self stubbornly replied. "I do not understand, the military told us in every way that we failed, humiliating you and all of us."  
Cecilia could not stop her voice from trembling. She shook her head, angrily recalling the last words of the arrogant general who had visited their laboratories. He had told in her face that she should have played too much with dolls as a child, if Cecilia really thought that the results of her work could make a difference in a war fought with Mobile Suits. Cecilia looked down, staring at her hands, but the Director seemed to read her thoughts.

"Oh, come on, I knew they could not deride your work that much. And the value of those monsters as big as buildings cannot be compared to what we could produce here. "

"I don't doubt the theoretical significance of our researches, Lenk, but you should admit that they had a point. Even compared with the results of the Extended project, what we created here was a complete, utterly disaster," the girl said, still unable to understand the sudden change in plans, after sour days spent thinking she had to look for another job.

At that point, Lenk indicated Cecilia the folders in front of her, mysteriously smiling. "I know, but maybe it was all because we worked on... the wrong material." Then, he leaned back in his chair, with his hands clasped on the large belly. Waiting for her reply.

Cecilia hesitantly looked at the folders, before to pick up one. It was full of sheets, but it was the photo placed over the entire stack that made her instinctively wince and look away in disgust. "Oh my..." she exclaimed surprised. Then, by pure scientific curiosity, Cecilia forced again her attention on the documents. Her eyes skimmed through the data printed on those pages. They were all detailed medical reports. Slowly, she lifted the photo in front of her.  
"Care to explain this?" Cecilia asked.

"It's a Mobile Suit pilot. Well, what remains of his body after he had a… small accident."

"Interesting. And what am I supposed to do with this?"

"That is your new test subject. Isn't it clear? Obviously, and although it'd seem unbelievable, that guy is still alive, like all of his comrades cataloged in those files."

Cecilia had to refrain from shouting. "I know he's alive, I can read these reports. But are you kidding me? Healthy men, perfectly fit, trained soldiers were unable to bear the implants. Their bodies rejected them or found them psychologically intolerable. And now explain me how can you think that such a thing might be more successful?" she asked, waving the photo.

The Professor raised his right index. "Oh well, maybe the problem we had with those people was that they were _too_ healthy. We underestimated the psychological aspect of having their body modified so radically."

"And so, what does make you think that with these pilots would be different?"

"Maybe because they would die without your implants. And if you are worried for the mere physiological issue, get a closer look to those reports. The guys are all Coordinators."

Cecilia looked down at the folders, now deeply surprised. "Are you not assuming that… are you?"

The grin on Lenk's face was almost hilarious. "Why not? Even some of us suggested that the enhanced body of a Coordinator could react better to treatments."

"I'm not talking about that, Professor," Cecilia's eyes became hard. "Here we design and produce ... well, we try to produce biological weapons to fight the Coordinators. It makes no sense to perform experiments on them. Even if we achieved some results, they'd be useless for the Alliance. These people would never fight against their own kin."

Lenk looked at her, opening his large hands. "Cecilia Jesek, listen, how many times do I have to remind you this? It will be up to the Alliance to solve that problem. We are scientists, not politicians nor military. We are given a wonderful opportunity to continue our studies, and I'd like to have you by my side. After all, many of the patents we use here are yours. "

He was smiling, but Cecilia knew that Lenk expected from her only a positive answer. Because the institute was working on patents registered in her name, and the staff was working over something she created. Had Cecilia decided to leave, nobody would have been able to replace her, it was even legally impossible. On the other hand, there was no place where she could go. Young genius in biorobotic, Cecilia had always lived inside the large scientific facility where she completed her studies. The staff there was her family, and that place was her house. A place she could not abandon, since it was also the only one in the world where researches over cybernetic implants were performed.

Cecilia wearily sighed. "Oh crap… ok, all things considered why should I worry if the Alliance wants to finance an experiment which result will eventually turn against it? I don't even think there is something salvageable from this disaster."  
The young woman looked more carefully at the photo, comparing it with the medical reports. She would never have thought that a human being could survive if reduced to that pitiful state. "These Coordinators are really different from us..." she muttered, looking at the pilot's physical records. "Do we know at least who they are?"

"No. We can run a DNA test, but we have no way to access the PLANTs' databases. In any case, I'm sure their families consider them already dead."

"Eh, I suppose it'll be even a surprise for _them_, to still be alive." Cecilia slightly frowned when her eyes fell on the man's personal information. "Male, height of five feet eight inches, the apparent age is eighteen years old ..." she read slowly, hearing the voice tremble on the last part. "He's just boy!"

"Most of them are, the oldest is barely twenty, and I do not think it's a coincidence. Probably for ZAFT things are going so bad that they are using rookies as front-line troops. While the guys who finance us probably suppose that these pilots have more chances to survive the experiments, being so young."

"You are too naive, Lenk! From what I can read here, I doubt that these Coordinators will be still alive tomorrow." The young scientist felt her blood distinctly turned into ice, as the unpleasant realization of what she was expected to do with the injured pilots finally struck in all of its harshness.

"Their conditions are serious but stable, it's up to us to take over," the professor was saying.

"Or let them die if we did not, am I right?" Cecilia said through gritted teeth. "That's why they were sent here, because these poor bodies are even worthless as a bargaining chip. I do not know if I can do it, Lenk. One thing is to improve the performance of human bodies, another is to perform a total reconstruction" she admitted without shame, and with a sad grin on her face. She gave a quick glance at the other dossiers. One in particular made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. "This pilot should be no older than fifteen, they even deploy kids on the battlefield."

"The Alliance does the same."

"I knew, holy crap! Politicians and military are nuts. Doesn't cross their minds the thought that these guys are too young to do such a thing?"

"For all that matters, Coordinators are considered adults at fourteen, and Alliance soldiers are all volunteers. Beside, there are people of that age mature for their years. At fifteen you were already awarded a Ph.D," Lenk said with a smirk.

"Sure. But I was special, and I was studying," she replied with a shrug. "I did not go around killing people." Having realized the enormity of what she had just said, the Cecilia's lips twisted into a tired smile. "Yet." she whispered, running a hand through her untidy hair. Had she accepted, her future work would have been quite different from the past. Those Coordinators would have died without the implants she had realized but, on the other hand, they had no choice but to become guinea pigs for the Earth Alliance.

And Cecilia couldn't help but to find it completely wrong.

Probably sensing her inner turmoil, Lenk Granato affectionately smiled at her.

"Cecilia, I understand your ethical concerns, but keep in mind that should the operations be successful they will be granted a second life. And then you won't be alone. Together with the test subjects came the army surgical team that put those guys back together. They will assist you and the staff here. You'll have only to take care of the mechatronics."

"That is anything but easy" she retorted, raising one of the folders. "Some of these guys need a reconstruction up to sixty percent of the body. And we should develop optical systems." Cecilia made a face, throwing on the table the documents. "This pilot lost his eyes in the explosion, and he is not the only one."

"And aren't you excited? We'll explore new frontiers of science and technology. Come on, I know this is your dream, if you renounce now, you'll dearly regret it."

He was right, Cecilia knew it. That was why, not totally convinced but finally persuaded that there was nothing she could do to reject the unexpected developments of her project, the girl nodded. The outcomes were highly uncertain. The problems to face unpredictable. There was only one certainty: even if they survived, those Coordinators would hardly thank her. Not when she was going to turn them into the war dolls of the Earth Alliance, with not even the slightest chance of returning home.


	2. Prey

July 16, 2010 edit: many thanks to the awesome Strata-Assassin who betaed this chapter. I owe you a virtual beer or many cookies... or both! *hugs!*

* * *

**Prey**

**_Aprilius_****_ City_****_, December 13, C.E. 81_**

"What the hell are you doing?" Yzak yelled, grabbing Athun's shoulder. "Leave it to me, my fingers are thinner than yours. Do you want to choke her?"

The silver-haired young man pushed Athrun aside, and pressed two fingers on Lacus's wound. Blood now soaked the collar of her white dress.

Athrun looked at Lacus, momentarily taken aback by the gravity of the situation.

The former singer's eyes were closed but she was awake, her lips parted and pale.

"Can you breathe?" he dared to ask.

If the bullet had pierced the trachea there would have been nothing to do, but since Lacus was not bleeding from the mouth he was slightly confident things weren't worse than they looked. Athrun was relieved when the former idol murmured a feeble, "Yes."  
He was so distressed he didn't realize Meyrin was next to him until the woman spoke. "The ambulance will arrive soon. Relax, Athrun. The sniper didn't catch any of the arteries, or she would have already bled to death."

Yzak shot Meyrin one of his famous icy glances. "Captain Hawke, we're all soldiers here, and know very well how to recognize a mortal wound from one which it is not. Please, don't state the obvious."

Meyrin blushed, mortified, but Lacus blinked, her lips stretching into the resemblance of a smile that reassured Athrun despite the anxiety that was piecing his stomach. "How…?" he asked, more to himself, but Meyrin answered anyway.

"There was a sniper on the roof of that building," she explained. "It's a museum. I already alerted the security there to do everything they can to block him, and I've warned the police patrols in the area. They are all converging here."

"Meyrin," Yzak began," take the three agents who were in the car leading the parade and go assist the museum guards. I don't think they have guns. Don't allow anyone to leave that building."

The young woman nodded, waving to the men to follow. Athrun stared at Meyrin uncertainly as she ran away. He felt torn. Part of him wanted to join them, but he could not leave Lacus.

It was Yzak who decided for him. "What are you doing? Go help her. Here the situation is under control, but Meyrin needs someone experienced to help her. Shit, her position should have been purely ceremonial. She's not prepared to face a situation like this."

In that moment Lacus opened her eyes, staring at Athrun, and slowly moving an hand to touch his right leg. As if she wanted to reassure him he could leave.

"Athrun, there should be a gun under the driver's seat of Lacus's car. Take it and bring me the head of that bastard," Yzak growled.

Looking at his friend's distressed face, Athrun bit his lower lip. Yzak was clearly furious with himself for not being able to run after the terrorists, but to remain stuck there wouldn't have helped anyone. Even if it was years since he had done something like that, Athrun felt he had to take all the necessary measures to assist the search party. They could not let the killer flee.

So, he nodded vigorously and launched a smile of encouragement to Lacus, running towards the car. The gun was where Yzak had indicated, and the ease as to which it slid into his hand brought Athrun to an unpleasant conclusion: it was hard to believe that just few moments before he had thought Aprilius One was a boring place.

Then he crossed the street, warily entering the museum. Athrun released the safety catch of his gun, holding the revolver tightly. There was no room for hesitation, as the first shots resounded in the hall.

* * *

Yzak cursed the slow traffic of Aprilius City a thousand times before the ambulance showed up. He shouted at the doctors as soon as they jumped down the vehicle.

"Why didn't you take a flyer?"

"They were already all out, Commander Joule," a young doctor replied, nervousness echoing in his words. "The news that former Councilor Clyne was injured came in an already chaotic moment..."

"I don't care, help her!" Yzak snapped, proceeding to move his fingers away from Lacus's neck with a sigh of relief.

The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but the young woman looked shockingly frail to him. Extremely pale, Lacus's eyes were shut and she kept her hands clenched at her sides, while her breath came in ragged gasps from the terrible effort. But Lacus's condition was better than the man shot in the head.

Yzak looked at the corpse, which minutes before had been Alexander Borodin, the former Prime Minister of the Eurasian Federation. His body laid sprawled on the ground, half of this skull gone. There was no doubt that he was dead.

"Poor bastard, unlucky enough to be in the trajectory of the shot," Yzak mused with a grin disfiguring his refined features. Soon his attention returned to Lacus. The doctors did not seem to be having difficulties in stabilizing her condition.

"It's not as bad as it seems, Commander. But we need to take her to the hospital as soon as possible."

He nodded. "Good. I'll leave everything in your hands."

"Won't you come with us?"

Yzak shook his head. "No, I would be useless. You are the ones who save people. My job is another one," he said dryly, walking quickly towards the museum. Commander Joule held no weapons, but he was ready to stop the terrorists with his bare hands, if that was necessary.

The visitors had escaped with the first shots, so Yzak had no difficulty in crossing the deserted atrium. He walked carefully down the halls to catch the slightest sound, and finally a burst of gunfire, followed by a howl of pain, claimed his attention.

Yzak rushed toward the stairs. He took two steps at a time, discovering on the top the bodies of three men clad in blue uniforms. The guards of the museum.

The terrorist had hit them in the legs and arms, but luckily the wounds did not seem severe. One of the guards even had the strength to point Yzak to a glass door at the end of the corridor.  
"They ran there, in the auditorium."

As fast as he could, Yzak closed the distance from the door, opening it without a second thought. He found himself on the balcony with a clear view on what was happening on the stage.

From a giant window on the far wall, the light of the early afternoon flooded the theatre, shining on unlikely actors performing the strangest representation: Meyrin, two guards and Athrun were looking for cover behind half columns placed here and there on the stage. The third agent was not in sight, Yzak wondering if he had fallen.

"Surrender, now!" Meyerin shouted. "There is no place where you can hide!"

One of the guards leaned forward and fired, but his bullets only hit one the pillars. Probably conceived for some kind of set, they were made in a white, shiny material that looked like ceramic resin. The impact scattered fragments in all directions, but the terrorist, that Yzak could see hidden behind that same column, did not return the fire.

_'Did he run out of ammo?'_ Yzak asked himself. It seemed too easy. As if to reply, the other guard opened fire but the terrorist did not react.

Yzak saw a black object launched towards the agents and he stiffened, only to discover, when it landed on the floor, it was only a machine gun.

"Great. Now come out, and keep your hands in plain sight," Meyrin ordered.

The terrorist complied obediently, slowly walking away from the shelter, while Yzak's pale blue eyes focused on him. He was a man, clad completely in black, and the hood of his short sport jacket completely concealed his face.

"Stop there!" Meyrin ordered again.

The young woman and the two guards cautiously approached the terrorist, keeping the guns aimed in front of them. Athrun stayed behind, never taking his eyes off the prisoner.

Yzak frowned. _'I hope the guy doesn't try anything funny.'_

"Get on your knees," Meyrin commanded. With, again, no strange reactions from the man. The guards surrounded him while the redhead moved closer.

Yzak sank his teeth into his lower lip. _'Too close.'_

In that moment the prisoner raised his head to look at her, and Yzak saw Meyrin startle, throwing her shoulders back in stylized surprise. She lowered her gun imperceptibly, and it was enough for the terrorist to find a way out.

He leaned forward so quickly that nobody had time to react. He snatched the pistol out of Meyrin's hand, then grabbed the girl by the hair, throwing her against a column. Yzak saw Meyrin slip to the ground, leaving a trail of blood on the immaculate surface of the pillar. The two officers fired simultaneously, but with a quick twist of the torso, the terrorist hit both of them in the arms, lifting his own left one to protect his face.

He had freed himself in no more than three seconds.

_'Not even a Coordinator can be so fast. What is that?'_

"An Extended?" The word escaped Yzak's lips as his features twisted into a ferocious grin. That couldn't be real. He tightly gripped the handrail, conscious that Athrun was still there.

Yzak would have never confessed his inner turmoil to anyone, but he began to fear for his friend's life.

He saw the young Admiral raising his gun, shooting and rushing into the open space between two of the columns. He rolled on the ground so that the bullets of the terrorist found only air. Quickly, Athrun stood up, ready to hide behind the closest pillar, but the aggressor anticipated him. His next shot was not in fact directed at Athrun, but against the column he was going to use a shelter.

White fragments flew everywhere, and instinctively Athrun brought his arms to his face, just in time to protect the eyes. He still fell on the ground with a loud cry, glassy shrapnel embedded in the forearms.

Yzak could not suppress a scream. "Athrun!"

The silver-haired man flinched as the terrorist turned to him, instantly aiming his gun at Yzak as if elicited by a conditioned reflex. But he refrained from shooting.

Instead, his attention returned to Athrun, who laid on his knees with the injured arms abandoned at his sides. Deep blue hair fall loosely around his face, hiding his features save for the grimace of pain bending his lips.

With no idea how he could disarm the terrorist, Yzak ran down the stairs leading to the stage while, with the corner of his eye, he saw the terrorist lowering the gun and walking towards Athrun.

* * *

Athrun's gun slid away from his grasp, and hit the floor with a muffled noise that sounded to him like the toll of a passing bell. _'I'm not going to die here!' _Athrun screamed in his mind, struggling to rise to his feet and fighting the pain but, just then, he was lifted roughly off the floor and slammed against one the columns. The young Admiral grunted loudly as the impact took his breath away. Lifting his chin, he faced the terrorist. And such was the surprise that Athrun opened widely his eyes, for a moment forgetting the throbbing ache in his arms. From the shadows of the hood, yellowish eyes stared out at him. Unnatural orbs, with feline slit pupils, focused like those of a predator. Eerie, not even for a second Athrun thought those could be contacts. Whoever—or, better, whatever—the terrorist was, he was young, of some indeterminate age between twenty and thirty with a fair, flawless complexion and regular but anonymous features. Except for the eyes.

Athrun felt like a guinea pig ready to be vivisected. Fear sizzled through his veins, fueled by outrage and the uncanny sensation that something in the young man in front of him was definitely not quite human.

"Let me go!" Athrun yelled, kicking the terrorist right in the ribcage with all of his strength. Surprisingly, not only did he not move, but neither did he take his strange eyes away from Athrun, and his only reaction was to narrow them.

Then, he slowly parted his pale lips. "Athrun Zala?" the terrorist asked with a low voice tainted with insecurity.

"What the hell do you want from me?" Athrun replied, trying in vain to break free. He could not lift his arms and, even though the terrorist was a shade shorter than him and rather thin, he held the Orb Admiral firmly a few inches above the ground with only one hand. Athrun was going to kick him again, now more annoyed than frightened by the situation, when suddenly the terrorist released his grasp.

Without a word, he tuned on his heels and sprinted towards the giant window. In the same moment, Yzak reached the stage. Without slowing down, the silver-haired Commander crouched to collect one of the guns abandoned on the floor and shot against the terrorist. But the young man was already by the window. Breaking the thick glass with a volley of bullets, he jumped through it, disappearing into the void below.

A few moments later, but still too late, Yzak reached the ruined window too and put his head out, cursing. Not seeing the shooter, he walked back towards Athrun, raising the mobile to his ear. "Stop the monorail immediately and frisk every passenger. I do _not_ care if it's rush hour! The sniper who shot Lacus Clyne has jumped on that train. Find him! Concentrate the attention on the districts around the track and be careful, he's armed."

Athrun blinked. When he was young, he loved to visit that museum with his mother, and he remembered hours spent with his nose glued on that very window to watch the monorail train pass. Fifteen feet below.

Yzak was still speaking when he reached him. "And send a medical team up here, we have at least seven people seriously injured."

The silver-haired man could probably read the confusion painted all over Athrun's face, because he looked at him, frowning with disdain. "Do not ask me how, Athrun. But I just saw that bastard jumping on the roof of the running train as if it was a carpet. Just who the hell are these people?" he shouted and, despite the pain, Athrun managed to give his friend a look of support. With that determination he had no doubt Commander Joule would have achieved his goal.

Athrun closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He should have known it was stupid to jump into the fray after so many months of inactivity, and now he could have paid the price. In particular, his ears would have been affected when news of what had happened had reached Cagalli. Athrun smiled, trying to concentrate on her and on their two beautiful daughters. Intensely he clung to the love he felt for his family in the attempt to forget that the terrorist had seemed to know him.

* * *

**_Nassau_****_, October 29, C.E. 71_**

Hearing the news about the end of the conflict with the PLANTs, Cecilia allowed a derisive smile to emerge on her face. The war was over. After thousands of deaths and the possibility that the Earth itself was reduced to nothing more than a desolate land scattered with corpses, mankind could finally breathe a sigh of relief. "Yes, until the next fool who will stir up hate between Naturals and Coordinators. It will happen for sure, humans are too stupid to not fall back."

The young scientist shrugged, unable to join his colleagues who were celebrating. Cecilia knew very well the envy and the fear that genetically modified humans caused throughout the rest of Earth's population; at the same time, having been hated by her classmates since childhood, because of her too brilliant academic results, the anger and the hatred the Coordinators felt against the Naturals were not unfamiliar to the young woman. The memory of those who called her 'patchworker monster', even if she was a Natural, struck Cecilia as the anchorwoman kept talking about the meeting between the Princess of Orb, Cagalli Yula Attha, and the pink haired daughter of Siegel Clyne, Lacus. Apparently, the two had played an important part in stopping the conflict, and the video of the girls together, ecstatic with the result, made Cecilia shook her head.  
_'It won't last. Hate is stronger __than your childish pacifism.' _

Finally, she decided to turn her back to the monitor and left the cafeteria of the research centre, determined to finish her report before she went to sleep. Lenk Granato was right. She should not be concerned by the political issues. The important thing was that, despite the end of the war, the Institute would continue to receive financial support. Their sponsors were delighted with the success achieved, and they were eager to fully capitalize on their investment_.  
'Sure, even in peacetime I guess they'll find a way to use these guys. At least as highly efficient bodyguards,'_ Cecilia thought. Then, smiling, she opened the door of the common room where all the former Coordinator pilots, not busy with tests and drills, could socialize and relax. Most of them, as she had expected, had gathered in front of the television. Two were playing table tennis in a corner of the room, moving the rackets at a speed impossible to reach for any human, Coordinator or Natural.

Cecilia suddenly felt proud of herself.

The bodies of the Coordinator had adjusted without any problem to the cybernetic implants, while their strong immune system, that Cecilia had feared could reject the synthetic materials, had unexpectedly tolerated them. Also, accustomed from childhood to consider their genetically engineered bodies subjected to external manipulations, even psychologically they had not reported the same trauma that affected the Alliance soldiers who volunteered for the experiments.  
_'It's funny, these Coordinators were more shocked with the idea to be still alive than to have cybernetic limbs,' _Cecilia thought looking at their faces. Someone still had to deal with it, but fortunately that was not her area of expertise, and Cecilia felt almost proud of it. She had always been at ease dealing with numbers, chemical formulas and inanimate materials, while it was the physical side of her work that made her uneasy; the scientist suffered from pessimism about what mankind was capable of, and she was instinctive repulsed by human beings.

Cecilia looked around in the room, finding the person she was looking for seated with his other comrades in front of the TV. She smiled. Apart from her mentor, Cecilia had few acquaintances among the rest of the staff—composed of scientists much older than her—but she was perfectly content to maintain her level of personal involvement with them at a mere professional level. One would say that Cecilia Jesek was a very lonely young woman, but that was not true. Everyone knew she only loved her work. Her colleagues were surprised Cecilia enjoyed the Coordinators' company so much. Someone, even maligned they were nice-looking guys, but Cecilia knew her appreciation was not for a reason so trivial.

Several Coordinators turned to look at her as she walked towards them and, examining their faces improved by reconstructive surgery and their arms marked by the geometrical scars left from the operations, Cecilia could not mask a satisfied smile. They were like a group of beautiful dolls which, by chance, had been given the gift to speak and to move. Thus, she should not be afraid of them. They would have never hurt her, or make derisive comments behind her back because Cecilia was so dissimilar from the other human beings. Now, they were _different_ too from any other creature on Earth: missing or fractured bones replaced with an endoskeleton in chrome-cobalt-molybdenum, damaged internal organs transplanted or substituted with synthetic ones generated through bioprinting, the former pilots were no more humans in the strict sense.  
Some of them wore dark goggles to protect the optical devices installed, like the young Coordinator with whom she had to perform the latest test of the day. He was staring at her and, when Cecilia raised her hand to motion him, the former pilot stood up from the sofa with a grimace, walking towards her with a slight limp.

Cecilia sighed. She had explained to the Commission all the technical problems related to recover the body of someone still growing—insisting that at least the youngest ones should have been discarded by the program—but the Institute's donors refused to listen. Cecilia considered herself cold but not heartless, and she would have rather given them a merciful euthanasia rather than to condemn the unfortunate boys to years of tortures. However, she could not decline the order to treat them. Since the specimen were already few, they did not even have the luxury to die.

The scientist smiled at the Coordinator, helping him sit down in front of her. He seemed to have problems in standing. He was the youngest of the group, and also the biggest problem, but Cecilia was at least relieved the operations were a complete success.  
"Does it hurt?" she asked, taking a seat too and pointing a finger to his right knee.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "A bit ... "

Cecilia raised an eyebrow. After all those months she had come to know them. "A bit," in the language of the subject Twenty-one meant that the pain was killing him.  
"I'll tell the doctor you need an injection of Lidocaine. For a while it should be ok, but if it's still bothering you in the next couple of days we might decide to replace the implant."  
Cecilia could barely conceal a worried frown. A more severe therapy based on opiates would fix the problem, but doctors were forbidden to prescribe them; not to create new Extended-like beings dependent on drugs. She wrote a note on the medical records of the boy she had brought with her, adjusting her glasses. "I had hoped to wait a little while before substituting the implants, but, unfortunately, you grew up damn fast. Your parents must be quite tall, am I right?"  
She shot him a look, but Twenty-one did not move a muscle of his new face. She considered for a moment to remove his goggles, but it would have been useless. The omnipresent fixed gaze of those optical devices was a problem they had still to fix.

Sighing, she took his hands instead. As far as she knew the Coordinator could also be an orphan; he had not revealed anything about his past, not even his real name. Worse, he spent days without saying a word. And, yet, in the explosion that almost took his life, he did not report any neurological damage.  
_'Post-traumatic stress disorder,'_ Cecilia diagnosed, while running her fingers over the ones that had been installed on the Coordinator_. 'I hope he will recover, or this will be useless.'_ She passed the tip of her index on the inside of his left wrist, and felt him shiver. "Well, it might hurt a bit but you have shown an excellent response to regenerative drugs. Honestly, I had never expected all of you to adapt to my implants that easily."

Mute as ever, the Coordinator only tightened his lips and, assuming that was an unspoken question, Cecilia felt compelled to explain. "We call them implants and not prosthesis because they are interfaced directly with your nervous system through the neural connections fully integrated with it. The impulses from the brain reach the motion detectors in the exact same way as—in an intact human body—they arrive at the joints. No, much faster than that." The scientist closed his right hand into a fist. The artificial skin had the same silky texture of the epidermis of a child. "And, you know, these implants are more efficient than normal arms and legs. You, and all of your mates, will be much stronger, faster and more agile of any human being." She raised a finger to touch his goggles. "And with these new eyes you'll see the world in a different, more complete and functional way." Cecilia could not suppress a satisfied chuckle. "Think about it, you might as well consider yourself as the evolution of our species."

The boy withdrew his hands from hers, while the enthusiastic words of Cecilia met a wall of silence, broken only by a brief "fascinating," said in a whisper. The scientist had the weird feeling that, if he could, the subject Twenty-one would have given her a piteous look.

Slightly disappointed, Cecilia shook her head, taking the boy's medical record and raising from the chair. _'Sooner or later you will understand ...' _

"Come with me," she said with less vehemence. "There is one last test I need to run on the coordination of those fingers." The Coordinator followed her obediently out of the room. He might have been quiet but, as the good soldier he was, there was never a need to repeat things twice.

It was cold in the laboratory, and Cecilia pressed her white coat around her, grabbing two black gloves placed on a table. "Here, wear them, sensors woven into the fibers will transmit your movements to the computer. Now, do you see that digital keyboard? Sit there and press those keys for a while. I need you to play for five minutes, but listen, I would be very grateful if you refrain yourself from touching the keys on the far right, they produce the most acute sounds and I've already an incredible headache." With that, the scientist seated wearily in front of the computer, starting the program.

That day she had already performed the same test several times on the other subjects, and they had all cruelly tortured her ears with the most gruesome sounds. She had no reason to hope this time it would have been different.

The first chord was uncertain, and Cecilia looked gingerly at the headset abandoned next to the monitor. She reached out a hand to grab them but, in that moment, harmonious notes poured from the keyboard, as if it was a different person who was playing. The scientist turned her eyes back to the Coordinator. He was moving his hands on the piano skillfully, clearly knowing exactly what he was doing. And the melody was perfectly executed, with an enthusiasm that she would have never attributed to the young Coordinator, considering how dispassionate he looked.

Cecilia did not dare to stop something so beautiful. It was the former pilot who brought the concert to an end ten minutes later, a grimace of pain on his androgynous face, and eyes fixed on his right hand. Cecilia made a mental note that there was another part that needed an analgesic.

Uncertain about what she could say, she chose the most obvious thing. "Good. The test is successfully passed. And congratulations, you never told anyone you were a pianist."

"I was ok…" was the meek reply, but uttered with a tension that was not lost to Cecilia.

"We're done?" he asked, rising to his feet abruptly, without looking at her.

"Sure. Come with me, I will take you to Dr. Meine for that Lidocaine shot." She followed the Coordinator to the door, unable to tear her eyes away from the hand he was opening and closing nervously. Alarm bells started ringing in Cecilia's head, but she decided to test her luck anyway. Some of those guys were really a mystery, and there was no better moment to find out something about them then when they were so vulnerable. "And you are truly talented to be so young. Since you were also a Mobile Suit pilot, when did you have the time to learn to play piano like that?"

The Coordinator laid his left hand on the button that opened the door, but without pressing it. "I suppose I was born with that ability" he answered flatly.

"But, still, I think you had to practice a lot."

"My mother... since I was a child she had wanted me to take lessons... she had this old piano and she liked that I played it for her."

"How sweet. I bet that she loves you very much, am I right?"

Cecilia became aware of her error when it was too late. The Coordinator turned towards her, leaning heavily against the door. "Why am I here? I want to go home... let me go home... I want to see my mother... my piano... " He pressed his arms around his body, shaken by deep, agonizing sobs. But he could not cry, because the optical systems were not yet completed. Cecilia had never seen in her life something that painful.

She felt lost. None of her schooling had prepared her to handle a hysteric teenager. Taken completely aback, the scientist saw the Coordinator place his hands on his face, and she ran to him before he could do something irreparable. Instinctively she grabbed his wrists. "Hey, don't try to ruin my work." The magnitude of her mistake was clear to Cecilia when she was tossed aside as if she was weightless.

The scientist hit a table, causing an atrocious pain to pierce her side. Cecilia felt herself fainting, but it did not escape her what the Coordinator was screaming.

"And don't you ever think to lay again your hands on me. I'm not your toy."

* * *

"Do you realize what you did? He could have broken your neck."

Cecilia blushed furiously under the tense gaze of her mentor, uncomfortable for the reprimand and for the stiff bandage that held her two broken ribs in place. Knowing the extent of her own error, the scientist tried to justify the Coordinator. "I don't think so. It was only an accident."

But Lenk Granato silenced her with stern gesture. "I know. I saw the video taken by the camera of the laboratory. Who do you think called the doctor? That guy, realizing that you were unconscious, got a grip on himself and pressed the alarm. You should be grateful that at least one person in that room retained a bit of control."

"I'll go to thank him..." she murmured, embarrassed like a child caught stealing cookies.

"I do not expect anything less from you. Listen, Cecilia, luckily we managed to hide this incident to the military, or it would have caused quite of a fuss. Because, you know, nominally you are only my first assistant, but everyone knows that you are the project leader. If something had happened to you, what would we have done? The military could have thought he attacked you willingly, and they would have taken further measures to restrain the Coordinators. Those guys are already their guinea pigs, do you want them also to be prisoners on a leash?"

"No, of course no" Cecilia said, rising quickly to her feet despite the pain. She clenched her teeth, staring at her mentor serious face. "Sorry Lenk, I was too enthusiast. I felt... drugged. "

He nodded. "You are hardly to blame, Cecila. You are a genius, and your inventions saved those guys. I'm sure that if the Nobel Prize was still awarded it would be yours, but you need to be more careful when dealing with them. They could become very dangerous for you, for others and for themselves too. And, also, did you hear what that Coordinator yelled to you? He's a human being, Cecilia. He's very young, almost a child, and he has suffered something unspeakable. Do not treat him like a dummy with no feelings."

Grief struck Cecilia like a knife. The last thing she wanted was to hurt them. "I didn't! How can you say that? I'm the only one in the staff that cares for the guys like they were normal patients, while for the others scientists they are nothing but materials for their experiments."

"I know, Cecilia, but it's not what I was saying. I can see you are very close to the Coordinators, but refrain from spitting your usual cynical remarks when you are with them. Keep in mind, they are still psychologically recovering, and the wrong word could trigger something impossible to control."

Lenk's eyes rested on her injured side. "You are the inventor of those implants. You should know how strong those Coordinators are now."

Cecilia nodded stiffly, silently biting her lips. He was right, of course, and she was lucky to be still alive.

"Go to sleep now, it's really late," the man added more cheerfully, rubbing his cheeks with his fingers. "Starting tomorrow, I'll ask Julia to replace you at least in the tests on the more advanced subjects. This is also my fault, as I worked you too hard. Damn, sometimes I forget you're still a child too."

"I'm twenty, Lenk…"

"So? You should be still studying, not here working with too many responsibilities placed on your shoulders. Go, Cecilia."

The young scientist nodded, deeply moved by his words. Then, wishing him goodnight, she left the office.

* * *

Cecilia found the Coordinator in the doctor's waiting room. The boy had his arms on a table and his head resting on them, but raised it immediately as he felt her entering in the room. The goggles hid his expression, but the mortified grimace twisting his lips spoke volumes about how he felt. And Cecilia could not suppress her surprise when, before she could open her mouth, he asked for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, I should not have reacted that way."

The speech she had prepared evaporated. How could he feel at fault? Embarrassed, Cecilia could not suppress a chuckle. "What? I'm the one who hurt you. I was terribly indiscreet and tactless, you are not obliged to say anything about your previous life." The boy shifted on the chair, clearly uncomfortable, and Cecilia hastily focused on something else. "Anyway, thank you for calling the doctor."

"It was my fault if you were unconscious. I could not leave you like that."

"But you didn't have to ring the alarm when, sooner or later, someone would have found me."

"Do you think I could leave you like that? Do I look so insensitive?"

This time, Cecilia laughed openly. "I have no idea. This is the longest speech I have heard from you since you arrived here. I was starting to fear you had a mental deficiency. In any case, I don't know how sensitive you are, but you are certainly very efficient."

The Coordinator straighten his back. "Of course. I am a soldier, and one of the best of my class. I was trained not to lose control in any situation… although it's very difficult sometimes... but it will not happen again, I promise." He lowered his head, looking away from her.

Cecilia could not help but to smile sadly at his afflicted tone. Despite his declaration, his thin frame to his quiet nature, told her the contrary. And the words he had just spoken sounded, tragically, like those of a repentant child looking for approval. She sighed silently. _'What the hell are you doing here? What kind of society is ours that induces children to fight its wars?'_ Then, she remembered. The guy seemed nice, but surely he had already killed. And certainly he would do it in the future, thanks to those implants she had installed on him.

The scientist turned towards the door, trying to mask her unease. No matter who they were—and it did not matter if she felt at home among them—she could consider those Coordinators her most perfect creations. But they would soon become the war dolls of someone else.

"It's ok" Cecilia whispered faintly. "You don't bear any responsibility about what happened."

_'Not even for the things you'll be forced to do when you'll be out of here. That will be all of my fault too.'

* * *

_

**Again, thank you Strata-Assassin for the betareading!  
**

**I usually reply personally to all reviewers but, again, many thanks to Bryon Lancaster, Crimson77, my dear Galadan, and to all of those who read this :)**


	3. Realization

**Betareading by Strata-Assassin **

**

* * *

**

**Realization**

_**Aprilius City, December 13, C.E. 81**_

Athrun cautiously put his arms on the table in front of him, in an attempt to give the wounds a bit of relief, but it was a mistake. His wife, on the other side of the screen, looked grim for a second and then hit with her fist the desk again, shaking her head. A pale smile graced Athrun's lips, and his stare softened as it shifted on his friend Kira, standing stiffly behind Cagalli's chair.  
"It's okay," Athrun repeated, but Cagalli launched him a stern gaze, her eyes red from all the tears spilled.

"You already said that, idiot, but you still don't understand! You were going to make me a widow after only a year and a half of marriage! And how do you think I'd have explained this to our daughters?"

Athrun lowered his head, fully aware of the stupidity of his act. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't stay there and wait for the terrorist to escape."

It was Kira's turn to speak. "No, we're well aware that you felt compelled to intervene, and we appreciate what you did. But be careful, you're not alone anymore. Keep in mind that the twins need their father."

"I can't believe you are treating me like a five-year-old kid. Staying with Lacus clearly served you well, you have finally become wise," Athrun replied smiling, shrugging at the unusual scolding.

As he thought, a light blush colored Kira's cheeks and he lowered his eyes. Cagalli's twin could be the hero both Coordinators and Naturals praised but, for Athrun, Kira Yamato was still the best friend he had grown up together with. The one who always cried if his family or friends had a problem. And, as predicted, the mention of his injured life partner brought a shadow of terror on the face of the brown-haired pilot.  
"I'll leave tomorrow but, please, during the trip keep me informed on her conditions," Kira said, his voice tense.

Athrun nodded. He would have preferred Kira to remain with Cagalli, but in that moment, he knew Lacus needed him more. And just a glance at his wife's face torn between anger, affection, and a considerable dose of stubbornness, confirmed that Cagalli could certainly take care of herself. She was not the Chief Representative of the Orb Union simply because she had inherited that position.

"I want to be informed too," Cagally declared, using the sleeve of her green sweater to brush away the tears that still lingered in her eyes. Not a very lady-like way to behave, but Athrun loved her also because she was still retaining the freshness and the spontaneity of when she was sixteen.

That is why the gesture brought a new smile on Athrun's lips. "Sure. As I already said, her condition is stable and not life threatening."

"It's incredible..." the Princess of Orb murmured, staring pensively at her hands.

"I cannot believe it, either. It was a pure stroke of luck. The sniper's bullet passed through the neck without hitting the main blood vessels, the spine or the trachea. Even the surgeon was unable to comprehend," Athrun repeated for the umpteenth time. He had already explained everything, but they continued to ask him details of the attack. And, with each time, the incredulity of the former ZAFT pilot instead of dissipating was increased.

"What about the others involved?" Kira inquired.

Athrun shook his head. "Meyrin is in intensive care. The terrorist shoved her against a column with sufficient force to cause the poor woman a serious facial trauma. She lost several teeth, and..." He paused to take a deep breath. The memory of watching her body fell to the ground, managed to choke the words in his throat. He could not think of her in that state. Not when Meyrin had always been so beautiful and so cheerfully concerned by her appearance. "She's alive," he forced himself to continue. "But she will need weeks to recover. The other agents and the guards of the museum are more or less well. None of their injuries were serious or fatal. One has already returned home."

"Isn't it strange that nobody died?" Kira asked him. "All things considered, the attack was quite brutal."

"Yes, damn fast and effective. The sniper had to have served in some special operation unit. That's why I don't think it's a coincidence he missed their vital points. Probably the guards weren't his target."

The group fell silent before Cagalli picked up a pen and began to nervously twirl it between her slender fingers. "I don't understand," she said, hesitantly. "Isn't it strange that someone precise enough not to kill anyone else has been so inept in taking Lacus's life? He could have easily hit her back, or her head. Instead, he aimed for her neck, missing it. And let's not forget that the very attack was planned at an unusual time."

"Why? Lacus escaped several murder attempts," Athrun noted, mildly surprised.

"But that was in the early months of her presidency, several years ago," Cagalli explained him. "When her presence -or lack of- in the Council would have made a difference. But now her figure is purely honorary. That's why this attack appears more like a personal vendetta."

Athrun furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, unable to comprehend. "Do you think so? I don't deny the fact that after the war there were people who had a grunge against her for what happened to Gilbert Durandal, but everyone is aware, _now_, of what Lacus did for all of us, Naturals _and_ Coordinators. She brought us _peace_! To try to kill her for things that happened almost ten years ago would be cruel beyond words. And, if it's a vendetta, those who planned it must be incredibly persistent." Cagalli's attention shifted for a brief moment to Kira who, to Athrun, looked like a glass statue ready to shatter. It was a real pain for the Orb Admiral to see his friend trying to mask his discomfort behind his usual, quiet look. "Don't they say revenge is a dish best served cold?" Cagalli continued, a hand pressed against her chest. "For sure, they must hate Lacus a lot to reduce her in that state. And why not consider, also, that he could have missed her on purpose?"

Cagalli's insinuations were becoming more and more disquieting, and Athrun had to school his features into a neutral expression to hide is uneasiness. "On purpose?"

"Why not?" she replied, sounding suddenly more confident. "You told the visibility was perfect, and there was no wind. From where the terrorist fired he had the opportunity to blow her head away. But he failed, and the only one who died was the guy in the trajectory of the shot. Yet, Lacus's injury is severe. Didn't you say that she might not be able to sing anymore? Even if she's not a professional singer anymore this would be a devastating loss for her." Cagalli looked away. "Couldn't this be a distorted form of revenge too?"

Under the compassionate glance of Athrun, Kira instantly paled. Grief struck the blue-haired Coordinator at the thought that the only thing he could offer his friend in that moment was just a genuine smile of encouragement. He promised himself he would do the impossible, to catch the terrorists. Next, he focused his attention on Cagalli, who stood with her arms crossed and a defiant look in her eyes. Athrun nodded pensively, considering what she had said. His wife was not entirely wrong, and he had to report her insinuation to the commission in charge of the investigations, since he had been invited to participate as an eyewitness. "Well, it's something we'll take into consideration. Even if he only wanted to injure Lacus, he might come back to finish his work," Athrun said, graciously capitulating with a smile.

He and Cagalli exchanged a look, and Athrun had to bite his lower lip, consumed by the urge to reveal her the worst part of the incident. But he could not, for he had been ordered not to disclose the appearance and abilities of the sniper, classified as military secrets.

When they parted, a few minutes later, Cagalli had eyes wet with tears anew, but she also wore that steely expression so typical of the young politician. Athrun raised his hand to the screen and she did the same, relying on the illusion to brush each other fingers. The attack of the afternoon had left him with an unpleasant feeling not directly related to his injury and, for several reasons, Athrun would have liked to have Cagalli at his side. "Give a kiss to the princesses for me. I promise their dad will come back home soon," he whispered, bracing himself and believing that, despite the unclear situation, everything would be quickly solved. Athrun was sure they were missing something, and that no one could be so insane as to harbor a grudge against Lacus since the end of the war.

* * *

_**Nassau, November 15, C.E. 71**_

The young Coordinator had been told he could not refuse the treatments and, once healed, he would serve in a kind of private militia on the payroll of the Atlantic Federation. Even in the confusion of the moment, he had tried to protest, but he had known from the start there was no way to escape his fate. Not when that research center of the Federation was the only place in the world where he could have the _cures_ that were keeping him alive.

He had played with the idea of committing suicide, and knew a couple of companions who did not hesitate -failing miserably-. It was not in the agenda of the Federation military to let their specimen die, and he did not consider himself an hero to that extent. Also, dying one time had been enough traumatic to make him want to postpone that moment as long as he could. To weaken further his already pathetic resolution, the military had shown him pictures of what was left of his body after the accident. He had felt sick, and become fully aware of just _how much_ of his old self was not _his_ anymore. And that every time he crossed the door of the surgery room something damaged inside him -but human- was taken away from him and replaced with _something else_.

Finally, they had put under his nose a picture taken in the cemetery of the heroes on Aprilius one. It showed endless rows of identical tombstones, and he knew that among them there was one with his name engraved. He firmly refused to cry in front of them, even if he distinctly felt his heart broke. That was the tangible sign he was dead for the world, and all of his hopes to see the end of the wretched war had vanished, along with his dreams of a peaceful future with his family. He would have never seen his parents again and the thought of them, crying in front of his grave, tortured him every day.

The Coordinator was left with just the memories of a brief but happy life. However, they were becoming nightmares, and assailed him during his sleepless nights, morphed into the instant of his brutal death. It had been months but, despite the assistance of a team of psychologists, he could not come to terms with what had happened. They told him the incident was so embedded in his mental patterns that to completely heal from it would be impossible. That was what frightened him the most, along with not knowing what the Atlantic Federation had in store for him.

"Are you bored? Sorry, this will take a while. I turn on the TV, okay?"  
The voice of Dr. Jesek tore him from his thoughts, and the Coordinator raised his chin to look at her. His optical devices took a couple of seconds to focus on the young woman, and that was enough to cause him dizziness. Those things still needed a definitive set up, but he could not complain too much, not when the eyes Mother Nature gave him had ended up splattered on the visor of his flight helmet.

"As you want," he meekly replied, turning his attention to the television. They were broadcasting some kind of ceremony that looked pretty boring, but it was better than having to observe what the scientist was doing.

His right arm was stretched out on a workbench, and the Natural scientist had removed the synthetic skin to expose the structure beneath. Dr. Jesek had tried to interest him in her work, but the Coordinator had turned down the unwanted lesson -and her enthusiasm- with the least condescending smile he could produce. He could read the delusion painted all over her face, but it was not his fault. Being himself the son of a scientist, he acknowledged she was a genius, her intelligence far beyond the limit of the Naturals, and he was extremely grateful for everything Cecilia Jesek was doing for him. But, still, he failed miserably in considering those _things_ they had installed on him fascinating. From a scientific point of view, that array of integrated circuits and artificial muscles were miracles, but for him they were anomalies, not supposed to be where they were.

Lost in his thoughts he closed his eyes, unable to follow what the anchorman was saying when, suddenly, he heard a voice he knew very well. The Coordinator stared at the TV with renewed interest. The girl who was now speaking possessed the refined beauty so common for the Coordinators of her generation, and she sported long, luscious pink hair. She was Lacus, the daughter of the former PLANT Chairman Siegel Clyne. The Coordinator looked at her, overcome by a wave of nostalgia, studying her face that was losing the soft, round features of the adolescence to blossom into those of a gorgeous woman. Lacus, the idol who had ended the war commanding her own fleet, was pinning medals on the chests of the officers of the ship called Archangel. The anchorman was explaining that publicly honoring the members of the ship so decisive to restore the peace -even if formally belonging to the Earth Alliance- it was another sign of reconciliation between Earth and PLANTs. But the young Coordinator did not know what to think. While he was obviously happy that, finally, the conflict had ended, the scene disturbed him for some reason. Looking at the faces of those men and women, he could not believe they were the same people he had tried to kill for months during the war. They all looked quite young. The Coordinator blinked, because now Lacus Clyne was rewarding a boy who should have more or less his age. He sported untidy brown hair and had big, child-like eyes full of calm joy. The anchorman introduced him as Kira Yamato, the pilot of the mobile suit called Strike which had escorted the Archangel from Heliopolis to Earth, saving it from certain destruction.

At the sole mention of that cursed machine, excruciating pain gripped the Coordinator's stomach. And he did not even ask himself how it was possible to feel such a thing with a synthetic stomach, his attention drawn entirely into the video.

Lacus Clyne was now pinning medals on other military personnel. Some, much to his surprise, were not unknown to him. There were Yzak Joule and Dearka Elthmann, proudly standing in front of the daughter of Siegel Clyne; however, they were not the last surprise for the young Coordinator. The camera enlarged its field of view to show, a couple of steps behind Lacus, a blond girl who often populated the latest news: Cagalli Yula Athha, Princess of Orb. With Lacus, Cagalli had played a big role in the war, but who the Coordinator would have never expected to see was Athrun Zala at the foot of the stage. Although almost concealed among the rest of the staff, and clad in civilian clothes, he was unmistakable to the Coordinator. His optical systems focused on the blue-haired young man as everyone else around Athrun seemed to fade away. None of those attending the ceremony appeared to recognize the son of Patrick Zala. Marching down the stage they passed him by without acknowledging his presence, not even Yzak and Dearka. They just walked by apparently unaware he was there. The Coordinator was finding it very odd.

The camera expanded again to show the crowd, but the Coordinator kept his eyes fixed on Athrun. He zoomed back on his figure, so it did not escape him when the pilot of the Strike encased Athrun in a hug.

'_The pilot of the Strike is__ embracing the pilot of the Aegis,' _he noted. For a moment nothing happened, and the dizziness that suddenly clouded his vision seemed irrelevant. Then a cold, devastating feeling of emptiness blossomed in his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on what he had just seen.

'_Kira Yamato and Athrun Zala. Together.'_

They appeared to know each other _very well_. The gesture showed respect and affection, and a sense of sheer camaraderie that was almost fraternal. They have fought on the opposite sides of the war for months, when could they have developed such a warm familiarity? The Athrun Zala he knew, serious and introverted, could not have become so suddenly the close friend of his sworn enemy. The pilot of the Strike. The one they have attempted for so many times to cut down.

'_The one who killed Miguel and...'_

A glimpse of something vividly green on Athrun's right shoulder caught his attention, and finally the Coordinator saw it. A mechanical bird. A strange toy he had seen before…

"Ouch... be careful!" Dr. Jesek groaned.

Overwhelmed by grief, the Coordinator stared at her. The lips of the woman were twisted in an anguished grimace, and she had tears in her chestnut eyes. He frowned, following her gaze, only then noticing the fingers of the scientist's right hand squeezed between his own ones. With the pain sensors off, he had not realized what was going on.

The Coordinator immediately released his grasp, looking at the young woman as she took her hand to her chest. Was it only his imagination or was it already covering in red bruises?

"I'm sorry," he stammered, guilty and still shocked by what he had seen on television.

The scientist shook her head while a hesitant, forced smile appeared on her lips. "Do not worry, I'll never learn to be more careful when I'm around you."

It escaped him the reason why, every time he made a mistake -and it happened often- she insisted to apologize, almost as if the scientist felt at fault for something. He was perfectly aware she was the one who created those implants, but also that Dr. Jesek was a civilian, not part of the staff of the Atlantic Federation stationed at that research center. Moreover, he had often seen her arguing with the military, or even with her co-workers, for the brutal way they treated him and his fellow Coordinators. The scientist -who didn't look much older than him- had guts, he had to admit, and she was the only one in that place who cared for all of them as human beings. How could he always act so carelessly?

"Does it hurt?" the Coordinator asked.

"No."

"Sorry. I'm so clumsy..."

Shrugging, she shook her head. "You still need to adjust to the implants, and they probably need another set up. But it'll get better, don't worry."

"Actually, I'm more worried for your hand. You need to see a doctor."

"It's ok, the pain is already subsiding."

She was lying, it was clear just by watching the grimace twisting her lips. The Coordinator felt extremely sorry for her, although a part of him welcomed that unwanted incident as a way to forget what he had seen. Genuinely concerned for Cecilia, he wanted her to leave and look for help; yet, the Coordinator feared the moment he would be alone with his thoughts. Breathing deeply, trying not to succumb the panic and the tears, he stared at her unattractive face. Just to have something to focus on.

Used to the flawless beauty of the Coordinators, he could find nothing impressive in the features of that Natural. And, based on the comments her co-workers made behind her back, he knew that even by Natural standards Dr. Jesek was not considered a pretty girl. He had never liked curvy girls, but she was definitely too skinny, almost emaciated, with long, thin legs and the bony shoulders of a teenager. The scientist's only appeal lied in her thick hair, curly and dark, that seemed to have taken on a sort of independent life. Cecilia's full lips were not bad either, and now she was spreading them to reveal an awkward smile.

"You are worrying too much," she said to him.

The Coordinator shook his head silently, the words choking in his throat. He was just glad his face and his eyes should be in that moment as imperturbable as those of a doll. Because even if he had had to endure painful sessions of plastic and reconstructive surgery, they told him that it had proven impossible to repair the facial nervous structure in its entirety. Apparently, with time and regenerative drugs, the situation was bound to get better, but, in that moment, he did not mind at all to appear detached. He could not even stand the idea of explaining why he was feeling like a discarded, broken toy. Urged by a strange whim, he impulsively took Dr. Jesek's aching hand.

"Let me see," he said, sensing her brief resistance before she let her hand lie in his.

Trying to control his confusion, he examined her fingers. It seemed there were no fractures, but he had to remind himself to be more careful with her. Because it was a cruel irony that the genius mind Dr. Jesek possessed, as brilliant as a Coordinator's one, had to be hosted in the imperfect, fragile body of a Natural. Then he abruptly remembered. His genetic engineered, flawless body did not save him to be horribly injured in action, and all for a single moment of heroism. Despite all of his efforts, his thoughts derailed once again on his personal nightmare.

If there was something that had spared the Coordinator the cruelty to completely lose his sanity in the first weeks there, it had been the thought that the agony he was enduring was for a very good reason: for he had saved the life of the most important person to him after his parents. He was sure his parents were suffering, as much as he did, because they loved him so thoroughly. He was their only son, and he had failed them, not maintaining the promise to come back home unscathed. But it had been comforting the idea he had spared the same agony to the father of a comrade he admired. Of a _friend_ he considered the big brother he never had. But was he really sure Athrun had been his friend?  
The hug with the pilot of the Strike replayed again before the Coordinator's eyes and, like in dominoes, everything fell into place as he started to wonder that perhaps Athrun had always knew Kira Yamato. That would have explained everything. Athrun's reluctance. Athrun's fear. Athrun's insecurities to crush the Strike.

'_Athrun's lies.' _

The Coordinator had always shown affection towards the reserved son of Patrick Zala, to the point to being on his side even when everything and everyone was against the blue-haired pilot. He had justified his strange behavior in front of their more aggressive comrades, paying the price of their blame and their insults. And, now, he was cruelly realizing that what he had gained were only lies. And those lies had taken everything and everyone he had ever been close to away from him. While his comrades were receiving a medal from the immaculate hands of Lacus Clyne, he was prisoner of the enemies of PLANT, condemned to live like a mechanical doll.

Abruptly, he felt like to cry. But he did not want to, not again. Even if he felt crushed. Because crying was for children, and that time was over.

Realizing he was still holding the scientist's hand, the Coordinator let it slip away from his grasp. "It's ok," she repeated, furrowing her eyebrows as if noticing that something in him was off despite his calm appearances. "The pain is already gone."

He nodded, more to himself, grateful she was the one assigned to him that day and not someone else.

Yes, now the puzzle was complete, and all he had to do was forget he had ever seen those scenes. He already had too many things that hunted his nights. Did he really care about what he saw? Should it really matter that Athrun was friends with that Kira Yamato? It would have not been easy to put everything behind him, but the Coordinator was sure he could do it. Because, all things considered, who were those people? Just memories of a person who no longer existed; someone who died on a sad, anonymous island so far from his home. While he was someone created from those remains and who had, by chance, the reminiscences of a deceased pilot.

_'I'm different from __him,'_ the Coordinator repeated to himself, finding the thought incredibly soothing. But even that could not entirely erase the ache burning inside him like the flames of the explosion that had devoured his skin and his body.

Not resisting the temptation, he turned again his head towards the TV, his optical devices following Athrun, Kira and his former friends as they disappeared in the crowd. He had always tried to be a good child to his parents, an honest and loyal friend to his comrades, an obedient soldier to his commander, and even a merciful and honorable antagonist to the enemies of PLANTs. He had wanted so badly to become a _decent man_ once he grew up. For that reason, he had never cursed anyone in his entire, brief life. But he could not stop the thought that came to him

"I hate you," the Coordinator whispered, wishing them, and their loved ones, the same pain he was feeling. The same loss his parents had experienced.

* * *

**Notes: Sooo, thanks again to the awesome Strata-Assassin for the perilous work of betareading this chapter ^_^**

**And thanks also to the reviewers of the previous chapter and to all readers!**


	4. Disclosure

**Betareading by Strata-Assassin

* * *

**

**Disclosure**

**_Aprilius City, 13 December, C.E. '81_**

The committee had already met when Athrun joined them. Yzak and Dearka sat around an oval table with Commander Roy Kappler, the Security Supervisor of Aprilius One, and another officer who was introduced to Athrun as Dr. Shanti Zimmer, Director of the Research and Development Department of ZAFT. Both men, who looked in their early fifties, were clad in the white uniform of the military of highest rank.

After politely greeting everyone, Athrun's gaze was drawn inexorably towards Dearka, who wore an expression extremely pleased. The young Admiral, who had not seen Dearka since the attack, looked curiously at him.

"They were trying to flee, but I caught one," Dearka explained him, immediately receiving a derisive rebuttal from Yzak.

"Only because the guy was involved in a stupid car accident."

Dearka shot a sly glance to Yzak, lips bent in his trademark sarcastic smile. "And so? We detain the terrorist only because I was following him. He could end up in a civilian hospital."

"Is he alive?" Athrun asked widening his eyes, finally sitting down.

It was Kappler who replied him. "Hardly, since he was hit by a truck. His condition is desperate, with few hopes he can return to consciousness. He is in a military hospital now, and a few minutes ago they sent us a medical report. Commander Joule, explain everything to Admiral Zala, he might find it surprising. And there's other good news."

Yzak grinned, while passing Athrun a holographic laptop. "Inside the museum, on the site of the shooting, we found traces of blood whose DNA does not match any of the security staff, you and Meyrin included," the silver-haired young man told him. "Obviously, one of your shots hit the target. Our specialists are checking in the database. Considering what the sniper did, he might even be a Coordinator."

"We already found out who the injured terrorist is, Athrun," Dearka continued, leaning on the table. "But even if the sniper isn't one of us, the identikit you provided is very accurate, and we have the video taken by the security cameras of the museum. He and his other companion won't be able to flee."

What Dearka was saying was interesting, but Athrun was not really listening. His eyes were fixed on the holo screen of the pc, reading the report. Part of him could not believe what the doctors had found out. After a few seconds he looked up to his friends. "Is it true?" he asked, unable to mask his strong incredulity. Athrun knew that biotitanium prosthesis were the state of the art in rehabilitation technology, but what was written in the report made those modern devices as ancient as wooden crutches.

"Yes. And isn't it exciting?" Dr. Zimmer replied with a nod.

Athrun stared at the scientist, noticing his eyes. They were lit by the sparkle of who has just discovered a treasure. "The body of that man is a real gold mine—" Zimmer continued, immediately stopped by Commander Kappler.

"Shanti, please," the man wearing the white uniform said, raising an hand. "I understand your enthusiasm but let's try to present the evidences in the most professional way. Remember, we still have at least two terrorists on the run. It's 22.00, I want to leave this meeting in no later than sixty minutes, and knowing exactly what we are looking for."

Zimmer rudely nodded, standing up and pointing a remote at a giant screen that adorned one of the walls. There were a sequence of computed tomographies of the body of the captured terrorists. "See," the scientist explained, highlighting with a cursor the details on the screen. "The body of this man has embedded cybernetic implants so well integrated with the rest of the body to be indistinguishable to the naked eye. Even the doctors realized it only when the terrorist was almost in the surgery room. The left leg and arm have undergone a total reconstruction, and the same happened to all the joints. The lungs are equally artificial, while the spine is partially replaced with vertebrae in cobalt chromium, a material that offers excellent—"

"Shanti, be brief," Kappler growled. "Save the lecture for another time, I just want to know who can do these things, and if we can trace the identity of this man."

The scientist nodded. "Regarding the first question, the easy answer is 'none'. Neither on the PLANTs or on Earth there are clinics that offer these cures or research centers that develop this kind of technology. At least, not at this level of sophistication. These limbs aren't just surrogates of human ones, but devices that significantly improve the physical performance of the body they are implanted on. If the patient didn't carry signs of a massive trauma suffered around ten years ago, one might think that he could have those devices installed on him on purpose to become stronger and agiler."

"Which trauma?" Dearka interrupted, frowning his blond eyebrows.

"Consistent with the exposure to a devastating explosion," it was Zimmer's surprising reply. "I asked my staff to work with the surgeons and, after the preliminary analysis, we have reason to believe the captured terrorist could have been a soldier or even a Mobile Suit pilot. We compared his CTs with those of other pilots survived, and injury traces on tissues and bones share some similarities. Although, his are almost undetectable."

Athrun's fears, never disappearing after his conversation with Cagalli and Kira, reached new peaks. He glanced at Yzak and Dearka, and was almost relieved to see that both his friends seemed as uncomfortable as he was.

It was the silver-haired Commander who gave voice to their concerns. "Do you want us to believe this terrorist has been one of our pilots?"

Zimmer squared his shoulders at the callous question. "Without proof I can't say for sure. We will have to wait until all the tests are completed, especially the DNA one."

"Commander Joule, calm down and remember we are only presenting suppositions about the facts," Kappler stated as Yzak raised both his hands as if to mimic a surrender.

"I apologize, but can we take a step back? Finding who this guy is, could lead us to whoever installed those things?"

Dr. Zimmer shook his head. "Hardly. We have only a trace, but it's quite elusive."

Before he could continue, the smartphone of Commander Kappler vibrated, shaking Athrun from his deep thoughts. The blue-haired young man had carefully listened to everything, becoming more and more distressed. Clearly, the man who attacked him had the same implants of the terrorist hospitalized, but the more Athrun thought of the sniper, the more his appearance reminded him of someone. Someone whose name escaped the Orb Admiral like the fading picture of old, distant friends.

Athrun ran his hand through his hair, forcing his mind to remember where he could have met someone with those features, failing to connect the feline-like eyes of the terrorist to anyone he knew. Then he swallowed. Hard. Not the eyes, they were unmistakably fake, but over those horrors the terrorist had thin, green eyebrows. _Green_. Through the years he had known very few people with hair of that color, unusual even among Coordinators. Athrun tensed, shooting a desperate glance to Kappler and Zimmer. They were both reading the message that arrived, and the puzzled face Zimmer was making suggested to Athrun the worst was happening. Kappler wore an agonizing frown, that melted into a worried expression as his dark eyes darted towards the three younger members of the committee.

He put one hand over his mouth, weighting on the other palm the phone as if he did not know what to do with it. "Shanti," he mumbled, slowly. "What are the chances this information is one hundred percent positive?"

The other man shook his head. "The result of the DNA test is for sure correct for the terrorist hospitalized. However, for the sniper there might be room for a mistake."

"I agree. Actually we don't even know if that blood sample belongs to him," Kappler assumed, but the scientist, seeming surprised, looked at him suspiciously.

"On the other hand we can't completely deny it," Zimmer chirped. "After all, he was the only other person there."

"That blood could have been dropped to baffle us."

Dr. Zimmer shrugged. "Roy, if the DNA matches for the first man, is reasonable to think that even for the second should be the same, since we have already a preliminary positive result."

"I know," Kappler replied, with a stubborn edge in his voce that surprised Athrun. What were they talking about? And why did the stern Commander Kappler seem so distraught? "But per chance I knew this person. I cannot believe he's alive and, above all, I refuse the assumption he's the terrorist who shot Lacus and reduced officer Hawke to that pitiful state!"

Athrun, no longer bound by any ZAFT etiquette jumped on his feet. "Please, is there a chance to know what you're fussing about?" he almost shouted.

Yzak and Dearka looked at him surprised but, much to Athrun's distress, Kappler's face was grim and not angry when he turned to him.

"Admiral Zala, please, sit down. Dr. Zimmer and I have just received the report of the team in charge of the identification. We have a perfect correlation between the terrorists' DNA and two samples stored in our DNA database."

"So, were they both Coordinators?" Dearka asked, and Athrun noticed in his friend's voice a slight tremble completely unfamiliar.

Despite Kappler's advice, Athrun stood still, unable to order his body to do anything else but to get stuck in that position of tense expectation. He did not like the way Kappler's eyes darted back and forth between him and his friends, with a mixture of horror and pity on his soldier's face hardened by many battles.

"So?" Yzak asked for them all.

"The injured man is soldier Lamex Malek," Kappler replied, narrowing his eyes. "Reported missed in action ten years ago in the Battle of JOSH-A. He was a GINN pilot, believed to be dead until two minutes ago." Kappler put his hand on his forehead, rubbing it and seemed uncertain where to begin. "The sniper is... at least, the DNA of the blood we found belongs to Nicol Amalfi, died on April 15 of the '71."

Kappler had said that in one breath and, for a couple of seconds, Athrun was not sure to have grasped the name. Then, while his brain was processing the information, and his legs bent under him, the young Admiral heard the sharp voice of Yzak.

"Are you kidding us?" the silver-haired Commander hissed.

Dearka looked at Athrun, pale despite his dark skin, and his empty gaze wandered from his friends to his superiors, as if he had suddenly lost any point of reference.

At that sight, Athrun swallowed hard, painfully conscious that he must wear the same expression in his face.

"No," Kappler declared, shaking his head. "These are the results. I have ordered our technicians to run a confirmation test but, as much as I'd like not to believe it myself, they are the best in the field and their work is always accurate. The result may be false in one case only: if someone wanted to mystify the investigation. I have no other explanation to offer you."

Yzak narrowed his blue eyes. He seemed to forget everything about the hierarchy, as he shot his superiors one of his famous icy glances. "But it's absurd. How do they think of confusing us in this way? Why? They're jerking us around!" he barked, selecting on the computer the only clear picture of the sniper taken by the museum cameras. Yzak pointed his slender finger to the screen. "Now, pick up a photo of Nicol and tell me if this guy looks even remotely like him or not. Athrun! You have seen his face. That was... was... who are they talking about?" he vehemently asked, pain and anger painted all over the face.

Gasping for air, Athrun shook his head. "Of course not, or I would have revealed it immediately," he said, aware he was almost stuttering. "For sure not his eyes. Above all his eyes. And the voice, not even that."

"He was fifteen the last time you saw him," Zimmer interrupted him, flashing a condescending smile. "His voice is for sure more mature now. And about the eyes—"

At that point, Yzak rose to his feet, reacting to his superior's insinuations with a fervor Athrun had not expected. "That bastard shot Lacus Clyne and six other people, and disfigured a woman against a fucking column. This is not something Amalfi would have ever done. You don't have the slightest idea of who he was," Yzak proclaimed, slapping his hand against his chest. "He was my companion, an _exemplary_ soldier. And despite this, he remained a sentimental and gentle boy who avoided even to kill our enemies if it wasn't absolutely necessary. He loved playing the piano and—"

The heartfelt reply was interrupted by the almost bored voice of Dr. Zimmer. "What does that mean? Even Joseph Goebbels was a pianist."

Before Yzak could commit a murder, Commander Kappler virtually jumped between the two. "That's enough. Sit back, Yzak Joule. That's an order," he commanded. "As I said before, we must determine the most accurate hypothesis based on the few facts we possess. And, for now, it is certain that the sniper is Nicol Amalfi." The man looked at the mobile phone he was still holding, gritting his teeth. "What do you think? I am also here waiting for a retraction. It's not true that I do not know who we are talking about. Yuri Amalfi was my mate at the university and I knew his son. I was at his funeral, and it was the most excruciating experience in my long career. I look at that picture trying to convince myself it's not him, that he looks nothing like the boy who played the piano at my wedding, and yet..." Kappler ran a hand over his eyes and then looked at the scientist as if to ask for his support.

But Zimmer shook his head. "We also found that the captured terrorist was subjected to a heavy facial reconstructive surgery. Your friend's case could be the same, as the face of our sniper is too regular. His right and left side match too evenly, there are no apparent discrepancies at all, and this is completely unnatural." The scientist gave Yzak a tense look. "Sorry to undermine your hopes, but it's highly possible this is Nicol Amalfi. Only the confirmation or not of the DNA test will dissipate all of our doubts."

"Yzak, please, calm down," Dearka said to his friend, now red-faced and visibly taut as a violin string.

The silver-haired Commander finally bowed his head. "Excuse me," he murmured. "I've been disrespectful."

Athrun breathed heavily, leaning back on his chair and forcing himself to calm down. He deeply sympathized with what Yzak had said, and flashed him a look of support, but his friend did not return it, lost in some kind of inner torment.

_'That guy is not Nicol_, _he can't be_,' Athrun repeated to himself, as if his will could erase the result of a scientific test.

The terrible death of Nicol by the hands of Kira had hunted him for years. Through the video connection between his unit and the Blitz, Athrun had seen and heard everything, and he had had the mathematical certainty that nobody, not even a Coordinator, could have survived something like that. Even later, when Andrew Waltfeld and Mwu La Flaga had returned from their graves, Athrun did not have the slightest hope that for Nicol could be the same, although they had buried an empty coffin because his body was never recovered.  
Athrun desperately gripped the armrest of his chair until pain shot through his knuckles. Why did he have a sour taste in his mouth? And what was that sense of heaviness threatening to suffocate him? _'Why didn't I believe it? Maybe because, in some perverse way, I knew he was at peace, in a place where nothing would ever hurt him again. And, instead, what had been happening to Nicol in all of these years? We were so sure he was dead that we didn't even organize a proper search party.'_

Athrun looked his friends, knowing, from their wearily expressions, they were having his same thoughts. _'We were so committed with our revenge to not even take into consideration the possibility he could still be alive._'  
He returned his attention to Dr. Zimmer, forcing himself to listen to what the Commander was saying, even if everything in him was refusing the content of that report.

'_We abandoned him' _Athrun thought, torn by despair. He stared at Yzak. Between the brash son of Ezelia Joule and the moderate Nicol, things had never run smoothly, but Yzak had been devastated by the death of young pianist, and now he was intently looking at Dr. Zimmer as if he wanted to incinerate him.

"Before the interruption I was saying," the scientist condescendingly stated. "It is clear the sniper has the same prosthesis of the terrorist injured, or he would have never been able to escape jumping on the roof of a running train. The interesting thing is that the only way we have to track down these people is to find him." Zimmer pointed on the screen the strange eyes of the terrorist supposed to be Nicol.

"Damn," Dearka said, clearly uncomfortable, and Athrun had to resist the temptation to look away, not to cross those eyes again.

"If you're wondering, no, they are not natural," Zimmer explained. "These are synthetic optical devices, manufactured by a company called Soltek."

"How do you know?" Kappler asked.

"Soltek was under the umbrella of the Logos holdings, and it produced prostheses and artificial organs. These were part of a special series, conceived not as a substitute for normal human eyes but as improvements," Zimmer clarified, nodding slightly. "Under a false name, we bought a stock before President Dullindal ordered to dismantle Logos. Some of our soldiers had lost their sight in battle, and we tried to install those devices without success. The implants caused our people terrible headaches accompanied by photophobia, nausea and, in a few cases, epilepsy attacks. Later we discovered the Soltek products infringed a patent owned by another company of Logos and stopped the experiments. They were evidently imperfect, although, in principle, their applications were really unique."

"In which sense?" Athrun asked, remembering how distressed he had felt when he had those very eyes fixed on him. He glanced at the screen, relieving by the fact that nothing in the face of the terrorist reminded him Nicol.

Zimmer nodded him. "They were designed to connect to the brain via a nanocomputer placed on the optic nerve. The computer processed the images and projected the information the person needed on the artificial retina."

Yzak opened his mouth. "Needed for what?"

"To identify and strike targets with the greatest precision. These systems were clearly intended for soldiers. Otherwise, they'd have never been conceived like this." An oppressive silence welcomed his words, and the scientist smiled coldly, almost anticipating what he was about to reveal. "The structure of these synthetic eyes is derived from one of the most efficient predators in nature, felines and reptiles. I think there is no need to explain the obvious reasons."

"You are saying that—" Yzak exhaled slowly, looking at the picture on the screen with a disgusted grimace.

"There are still at least two of these guys _designed_ to hunt on humans around in our city," Zimmer concluded. "And their connections with Logos is suspect to say the least."

"But that group was eradicated years ago!" Dearka protested.

"Yes, but let's not forget these terrorists could be on the payroll of a fringe still active," Kappler replied, shaking his head. "Now, let's suppose for a moment that the test results are accurate, and that this one behind me is really one of our men. It's easy to assume the third terrorist should be too. You'll agree with me that we have a serious problem."

The worried face of Yzak was quite indicative of his opinions. "They know everything about us, and we do not know anything about them."

"Exactly. And they have not finished the job," Kappler declared, getting to his feet and picking up the mobile. "I'll have the security increased at the hospital where Lacus Clyne is recovering. Commander Joule, I expect you and your men to work with our investigation team. Give them the maximum assistance in capturing the terrorists. Our next briefing will be in six hours." Kappler looked away for an instant, then rested his eyes back on Athrun. "I'll let you know if I have news from the lab."

Athrun, Yzak and Dearka saluted the two men and, only after Kappler and Zimmer had left the room, the silver-haired Commander vented all of his anger by kicking one of the chairs against the wall. "Damn!" he shouted at none in particular.

"Yzak, he's not Nicol. He can't be him," Dearka said to his friend, hands resting on his shoulders in the impossible task to calm him down.

"But he also acknowledged Athrun. He called him by name!"

Albeit with diffidence and an hint of disgust, Athrun's attention broke away from his friends and returned to the screen, where the picture of the sniper supposed to be Nicol Amalfi still lingered. His face, as Zimmer had pointed out, was not _normal_ in the accepted sense of the word. The terrorist was good-looking, but of a refined and synthetic beauty. Engineered.  
'_And as expressionless as a doll on a shelf in a toy store,' _Athrun thought, his mouth dry. That _thing_ could not be his friend, the kid who loved to play piano and who was so naively enthusiastic at the idea of coming to Earth to admire the oceans. Yet, examining the picture more closely, and remembering how he had felt when the sniper had stared at him in the theatre, Athrun could not deny the guy had _something_ that eerily reminded him of Nicol. '_It's only self-suggestion evoked by remorse,' _ the young Admiral tried to rationalize, not to surrender to the horror.

Then, Athrun froze, abruptly remembering Cagalli's words. Whoever the sniper was, from his position he could not miss Lacus. Even more, if it was true he had a sort of digital sight in his head. Was his target really only to injure her permanently? If so, Athrun asked himself shivering, who would have been the next one?

* * *

**_Nassau, December 24, C.E. _**_**'71**  
_  
"Aw you are always so surly with everyone. Come on, have a drink with me."

Cecilia shrugged, elegantly escaping the embrace of her co-worker. The young scientist continued to smile, even if disgusted by the smell of alcohol that plagued the breath of the young man.

"I don't drink," she replied through gritted teeth, throwing an annoyed look to her other co-workers who were watching them, openly laughing. Damn them all! Cecilia stared at Gary Bennett, who was still holding her arm, struggling to maintain a semblance of control. "Gary, forget it, I'm not in the mood," she grunted, on the verge of kicking him between his legs.

Bennett was a good-looking, twenty-eight-year-old scientist, almost a genius in his field of research. Since his arrival a month earlier, he had appeared more than eager to date the only woman under thirty not engaged. Everyone had bet he would have been the one to conquer the heart of the inflexible Dr. Jesek. And Cecilia disappointed them almost on purpose because she did not like him, nor the scientists recently hired. Directly connected with the cartel of companies financing the Institute –that Lenk Granato had called Logos they buzzed around her like vultures trying to steal every secret of her work, in the absolute incompetence of replicating the results. Lenk had to fight to keep the people of his old team, and Cecilia felt besieged. Her place was guaranteed, but the young woman feared the moment when her mentor would be replaced.

"Oh, but it's Christmas Eve and we finally celebrate in a peaceful world. Just relax for once! Come with me and I'll give you a beautiful gift." Before Cecilia could reply, another one of her new co-workers hung on the arm of Bennett, pressing her cleavage against his side.

"Gary, stop harassing the girl. Don't you know she just likes her plastic toys?"

Cecilia had to collect all of her strength not to violently blush. _Such_ a word from someone who had replaced her bosom with a couple of inflated balloons, she thought, refraining from replying. The scientist had no choice but to turn on her heels and leave, before stabbing both of those idiots with the star of the Christmas tree. That would have been a party!

The laughter of the two chased her.

"Don't tell me you really like her?" Cecilia heard the woman ask.

"If she only fixed her hair and put on some weight!"

"Poor girl, so intelligent and yet so ugly," the woman condescendingly concluded, and the two erupted in laughter even louder.

Cecilia had to put on her most indulgent smile as she left the room, wishing the two to choke on the champagne. Once again, humans proved to be nothing more than disgusting animals. But that was no more a surprise for her. Cecilia even managed to smile maliciously at the foolishness of her two co-workers, entering the elevator and closing the sounds of the party behind its doors.  
_'I have better things to do than celebrating with you, drunkards,' _she thought. '_And in a week, I promise you will be thrown out of here. If there's one thing I am good at, it's sabotaging the work of others. I don't need your help anyway. And it'll be an easy job for me, since almost all the Coordinators hate you as much as they love me. You are too stupid for them.'_

Her enthusiasm was restored the moment the elevator reached the floor where the research subjects lived. Because the better thing Cecilia had to do was, of course, work with them. Specifically, to fix a bug in the software that generated virtual images on the artificial retina. Cecilia had had a brilliant epiphany while trying to escape the clutches of Bennet, and she could not let it fade.

She rushed along the corridor, nodding to the numerous guards stationed there. Cecilia could enter the area freely that, as usual, was wrapped in a thick silence. When not busy with experiments and drills, the Coordinators spent time sleeping and it was already late, but the scientist knew where she could find a volunteer. Number Twenty-one was one of those who did not like to sleep at all, his nights plagued by horrified nightmares he firmly refused to reveal to anyone.

An anxious smile emerged on Cecilia's lips as she stopped by the door of his room, lightly knocking before to open it. The scientist stepped inside, so much happier to be there instead where she was ten minutes before. The Coordinator was seated on a sofa, cross-legged with a closed book in his lap and a pillow under his head. He stared at Cecilia, his new eyes glowing in the dark exactly like those of a cat. For a second, she could not suppress a shiver of fear.

The Coordinator had told her that, all things considered, they were not that awful, and much better than those he had possessed before, but Cecilia had already realized how good he was to belittle everything that hurt him. If she was subtly scared by the nature of those implants, although firmly believing they were wonders of technology, the scientist could only imagine how he could suffer to see them in his face every day. The atavistic, instinctual fear of giant felines, the natural hunters of humans, was not something that could be easily eluded, even for civilized people like they were.

Smiling more convincingly, she waved an hand, indicating his book. "Is it so boring?"

"Not really, but I've a terrible headache," the Coordinator meekly replied, narrowing his eyes.

Cecilia frowned. "Did you take a Treximet tablet?"

"Two, but it doesn't get better."

The scientist had to force herself to keep smiling despite the bad news. If a couple of doses of one of the most powerful painkillers on the market had no effects, they should start thinking of producing a customized one.

Cecilia leaned against the desk, putting her hand under her chin. "Listen, do you want to work with me a little bit? I've probably understood where the problem lies with those optical systems. Solving that, maybe the migraine will disappear too."

The Coordinator tilted his head on the side. "But it is late. And tomorrow is Christmas. Don't you want to go home?"

"Home? You know how this place is," Cecilia replied, casually giggling. She had expected that reply. "And then it's ok to remain here with you, today. You always endure every stupid idea I can think of, and I'm sorry lately they are giving you more problems than solutions, but I'm sure this little experiment will be successful. You might even consider it my Christmas present!"

After a moment of awkward silence, the young Coordinator brightened up, almost as if Cecilia had offered him a holiday. He shot her a genuine smile, and the scientist suddenly felt ecstatic.

* * *

Cecilia's fingers flew on the keyboard. As always, when she had identified the problem it was an easy job to fix it, whether it was mechanical or electronic.

"You are fast, just like one of us."

Cecilia greeted the comment of the boy with a shrug. She imagined that, for a Coordinator, it was the best praise ever to equal the abilities of a mere Natural to theirs. However for her, it was not so gratifying. "I know," the scientist replied, keeping her eyes on the screen. "That's what they always told me since I was a little girl. 'You learn fast, like those Patchworker monsters' my mates at school used to insult me, because I was smarter that everyone there. And teachers pretended not to see. They feared that I was, as you said, exactly like you. The _enemy_." She shrugged again, noticing how the Coordinator seemed perplexed.

"If I have offended you—" he started, but Cecilia quickly cut off his reply.

"No, it's ok. I know perfectly well what I am, and I'm not ashamed. I've never been. I've not chosen to be the way I am. Too bad for them if they were stupid," Cecilia said, winking at him. "But I'm grateful I have this ugly body, because it'd have really been a nightmare to live on Earth if I also had the gorgeous appearance of a Coordinator. That would have been too much. I'd have scared everyone and probably burned at a stake like a true witch."

She made a scary face and, unexpectedly, the Coordinator broke into a quiet laugh. "You are a strange girl, Cecilia. But funny."

"And you are being sarcastic, Twenty-one," she replied, laughing as well.

Despite the unpromising start, Cecilia had grown very fond of the boy. He might be younger than her but mature for his age, intelligent and sensitive, and he never embarrassed her in front of others. With him and his companions the scientist had soon realized it was the first time ever she could have a decent conversation with someone of her age without feeling depressed after a few minutes for the inevitable stupidity the other revealed. It was stimulating. Among them, the Coordinator number Twenty-one was the one Cecilia had to work more with, but she had nothing to complain. Even considering all of his problems, he was somehow able to maintain a light-hearted spirit, especially when she was around, as if he was trying not to weight too much on her shoulders. Conquered by his impeccable manners and smartness, Cecilia also sought his company outside the laboratory, never growing tired of it. There was something on Twenty-one that stood him apart even from the other Coordinators, almost as if he had a higher social class background. However, the thing Cecilia had never been able to extort him to was a private concert. When she had asked, the Coordinator opposed, muttering under his breath it reminded him too much of his home.

Recalling that moment, she reached out a hand to lightly caress his naked arm. It was cold in the laboratory, but he did not seem bothered, dressed only with light sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"I'm almost done," Cecilia said. She pressed the right spot on the touchscreen, waiting for the computer to process the software modifications, then turned towards the Coordinator. "Everything will be fine," she eagerly said, taking one of his hands in hers and tightening her grip.

The young scientist had always been disgusted by physical contact, but with him and the other Coordinators it was different. She had touched them so many times in the surgery room it had now become mere routine. It was also nice to feel the texture of that perfect, artificial epidermis; and the thought that under the layer of high tech skin there was something equally inorganic was reassuring for her.

The boy smiled at her, looking relieved, and Cecilia wondered if it was because finally the triptans were mitigating his migraine.

After a couple of seconds the loud beep of the computer alerted the scientist, and Cecilia immediately grabbed an optical pen on which she loaded the program. Her attention returned then on the Coordinator. "We are studying a software that will allow the nanocomputer on your head to transfer files wirelessly and to connect to existing networks. Until then, we are forced to proceed via infrared. So, look at me for a moment. And sorry, you'll feel a little twinge."

She lifted his chin with her hand pointing the pen in his right eye. Then she pressed the transfer button, and the Coordinator twisted his lips in the grimace of pain Cecilia had expected. "Sorry, there is no other way," she hastily said, hurt by his damped eyes.

"No, it's okay. It usually subsides quickly. But my headache is returning," he muttered.

"It's inevitable. But how is your vision?"

The former pilot blinked a few times, looking at his hands and then shifting his attention on her face. "It's much better now. The images are no longer blurred. I can even read."

The Coordinator stared into her eyes. "Cecilia Jesek," he stated. "Born in Tampere on the 25th of May '51. Enrolled at Massachusetts Institute of Technology at eleven years old. She completed her doctorate in biorobotics on—"

Laughing, the scientist turned her head away giving him a light slap on his shoulder. "Stop that. I didn't implement that improvement for you to peek on my profile."

"It's not my fault, it is one of the few that were loaded into the test database," he justified himself, smiling and raising both his hands. "I wanted to check if the retinal scan worked."

"And how is it?"

"Perfect," he confirmed, with an admiring look on his doll-like face. "Your curriculum is impressive, Cecilia. You're really a genius among these Naturals."

Cecilia glanced away, feeling flattered, but she immediately froze at his next sentence.

"You should have transferred to PLANTs," the Coordinator said, in his typical serious but gently tone. "Over there none would have envied your successes."

"Maybe. But my parents were Naturals, and probably the immigration would have rejected them. And I'm sure I'd ended up discriminated because I'm too unattractive for your standards." Despite her words, Cecilia was openly smiling, recalling what had been the happiest period of her existence. "And then I don't regret my life on Earth. I was ten when professor Granato, the director here, discovered me and insisted for this Institute to pay for my studies. My parents were already dead at that time, so I moved from Eurasia to the Atlantic Federation. Life has been great after that," Cecilia declared, morbidly taken aback by the sudden urge to tell him more about herself.

But the Coordinator did not seem persuaded at all at her enthusiast tone. "Really? But you were still the young genius among ordinary students. Weren't they jealous of your achievements as well? Like the people who recently have arrived here?"

She shrugged, exploding into a dry laugh. "I don't care about them. The only thing that interests me is my work, and your wellness."

A puzzled look on the boy's face was the bizarre reaction to her words, but Cecilia failed to grasp the reason he seemed suddenly uncomfortable. A hesitant smile claimed her lips, as she gently brushed again the back of his hand. "It's true," she admitted nodding. "Your problems were the most difficult to fix, but I'm glad everything is going as planned. I want you to be well… I want you to have a normal life again," Cecilia repeated, more convincingly. Much to her surprise the Coordinator blushed, and Cecilia could not comprehend why. The scientist placed a hand under her chin, tilting her head as when she used to face a serious mathematical problem. Why did he have to be embarrassed at her innocent words? However, of one thing the scientist was sure: the properties of the high-tech skin they had implanted on his face were truly fabulous.

The former pilot smiled uncertainly, carefully staring at her as if trying to read something on her face. "You're a good person, Cecilia. In this situation you are the best… doctor I could find. Please, allow me to give you a gift," he said, standing up.

Cecilia's eyes widened. "What? You don't owe me anything."

"Of course I do. You're the only one on the staff who is not treating me and my companions like guinea pigs. And you have saved my life."

Now it was her turn to violently flush, stunned by the odd situation. The silence between them became almost tense, then Cecilia suddenly realized how to smartly get herself out of the impasse. "If you insist," she said, twisting her lips into a mischievous smile. "There is one thing I've always wanted to know and you never revealed. What's your name? "

The former pilot blinked, as if utterly surprised. And somewhat upset. At that sight, Cecilia immediately regretted her curiosity, reminded too late of her cursed tactlessness. The young woman paled, jumping to her feet and about to take back her words when the Coordinator whispered a name, in a barely audible voice.

Cecilia could not help but to breathe a sigh of relief. "It's a nice name," she admitted. "It has a gentle sound, and perfectly fits you. And I'm glad, finally, I won't have to call you anymore by a number."

"Keep it for yourself. I don't want to hear it on their lips."

So disgusted had been the Coordinator's tone that the scientist nodded. She could perfectly understand him. "But you'll have to find a new one for when you'll be out of here," Cecilia advised him. "It'll happen, sooner or later," she said in a reassuring tone, knowing too well the things unambiguously immoral he would have been ordered to do once out of the institute. Noticing his distressed look, Cecilia wished she could postpone that event. Why did it suddenly seem so cruel to her?

The former pilot shook his head, probably lost in the same thoughts. "I know, and thinking about of it… it's not that bad to be here."

She saw the Coordinator sink his teeth into his lower lip, as if not daring to say more. And Cecilia felt so moved by his pain that an uncommon rush of tenderness overwhelmed her. The scientist put her trembling hands on his shoulders, and leaned over to lightly touch his cheek with her lips. "Liar. I know you are suffering, here in the hands of the enemies of your kin. But I promise I'll do everything to give you a life again. For now, Merry Christmas, Nicol" she said, whispering his name.

After a second she felt his right hand affectionately stroking her back.

"You too, Cecilia," Nicol replied, and it was the first time in weeks that the scientist could sense true happiness in his tone.

Completely unaware of what she was feeling, Cecilia shuddered, sensing her heart beating faster. _'Am I getting sick?'_ she thought, bursting absurdly into laughter. Silenced, a moment later, by the lips of the Coordinator that tentatively brushed hers.

The scientist widen her eyes but, too stunned to react, she did not break the contact. It was an awkward kiss, given with the hesitant tenderness of a novice expecting a rejection, and it made her legs bend behind her. Suddenly, she was aware she was indeed not getting sick_ at all_. Something else, more unbelievable, had struck her feelings with the magnitude of an 8 Richter scale earthquake. Now Cecilia could recognise all the symptoms that, until that moment, she had only heard in the psychology class she hated so much.

Somewhat conscious they were still kissing, Cecilia leaned deeper into Nicol's embrace, deliciously giving up without even trying to resist. '_Am I falling in love?'_ the scientist absentmindedly asked to herself, completely forgetting everything around them. Even that the laboratory had security cameras.

* * *

**Notes: as usual, thanks to Strata-Assassin for the betareading! I'm starting to owe you a whole factory of cookies :P  
**

**Thanks also ****to all the readers**** and to the reviewers **** of the previous chapter, ****Crimson77 and Galadan who are reading this from the very first chapter, and the new ones SeasideFantasy and Bluerose****. I hope I won't disappoint you :)**

**Ciao!  
**


	5. Insecurity

**Thanks to the uber-competent Strata-Assassin for the betareading! Since I modified the draft she corrected, all the mistakes you might find here are solely mine.

* * *

**

**Insecurity**

_**Apriliu****s City, 14 December, C.E. '81**_

For about an hour Athrun, Yzak and Dearka had talked about what was happening, desperately trying to find a reason for what seemed like a bad joke. Not only was their former companion still alive, but all the evidences suggested that Nicol was on Aprilius One looking for revenge. After a while Yzak, calling Athrun "miserable," had ordered him to go rest.

Once in the room the security committee had assigned to him, Athrun decided to take a shower, hoping the cold water could dissipate the overwhelming sense of insecurity he was feeling. But the loneliness and the monotonous sound of the falling drops only exacerbated his discomfort. Athrun did not want to think about it, but it was inevitable.  
_'Nicol was killed in my place when I instigated Kira to fight. For everyone, Nicol is just a causality of war. A mere statistic. But for me he is someone special.'_  
Athrun clenched his eyes, remembering when he had returned to Yuri Amalfi his son's sheet music, the only thing Athrun could bring back of Nicol. Even after so many years, jagged, painful emotions seized the young Admiral.  
_'And with the music I confirmed that I avenged Nicol, almost killing myself and Kira in the process.''_  
He had mourned over those days for years, knowing he could not mend his own mistakes, but now everything had suddenly changed. Now, Athrun had to talk about Nicol in the present tense.

With a sharp flick of the wrist he stopped the water, walking out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his lean body.

Talking with Yzak, he had tried to find consolation in the fact his friend was still alive, but he had failed miserably. In his anguish, Athrun was realizing he did not want to see his long-lost companion in those conditions. Because the person who had attacked him the day before, not only looked nothing like the gentle green-haired pianist, but did not even look completely human.  
Athrun stared at his own reflection in the mirror, steeling himself. Sad but firm eyes glanced back at him. '_If he had wanted to kill me, he could have done it easily. Maybe he's looking for something different than a postponed vendetta. I need to meet him. I want to ask him why he didn't let us know he was still alive. Why he didn't come back to the PLANTs.' __  
_Doubt still plagued Athrun, but he finally nodded to himself, strengthened by the unalterable determination to find the truth behind Nicol's shocking reappearance.

A few minutes later, Athrun left the room, heading to the cafeteria of the large building that hosted the Security Department of Aprilius One. It was almost three in the morning, and he was starting to feel the strain of the events crashing on him. His arms were hurting and a subtle headache was blossoming somewhere around his right eye. "I need a coffee," Athrun muttered, crossing the door of the cafeteria.  
He immediately spotted Yzak and Dearka seated around a table, both holding giant cups of coffee, and he joined them after having poured himself a similar mug of dark, aromatic liquid from a self-service machine.

Dearka launched him a tired smile as soon as Athrun sat down. "You look awful, Zala."

The young Admiral sheepishly grinned, motioning to Dearka's golden hair, now more unruly than ever. "You are not at your best either." Athrun glanced at Yzak, whose eyes were firmly staring at the content of the cup, as if he was trying to read his future there. "Any news?" Athrun asked, taking a sip of coffee.

His silver-haired friend nodded, and the creases between his eyebrows deepened. "Yes. Few minutes ago I received a call from Commander Kappler. The counter analysis confirmed the first positive result. The sniper is truly Nicol."

Athrun sighed, strengthening the grip around the mug. He knew it already, but the scientific evidence was still hard to bear. "It's only a DNA—" he began, immediately interrupted by Yzak's fierce stare.

"No. Kappler also sent me the report of the unit in charge of the identification. DNA apart, they have made some projections based on Nicol's old pictures, and his current appearance matches the bone structure he possessed."

"What?"

Yzak's hand mindlessly ran to his right cheekbone. "There are things that cannot be changed by reconstructive surgery, Athrun, like the distance between the eyes, the position of the ears on the skull and the head shape. In the case of our sniper the compatibilities are too many to be just coincidences."

Athrun nodded, deciding not to deny it any longer. Nicol was really alive, and now he had to deal with it.

"And there is another thing," Yzak continued, tightening his fists. Athrun looked at him curiously. "The tests revealed in his blood —and in that of the captured terrorist— weird chemical substances the scientists are still examining, and a high concentration of analgesic drugs. It is a special cocktail sold on the black market under the name of Deep Blue. It induces euphoria, increasing the levels of dopamine and norepinephrine in the brain, and allows long-lasting relief from pain. Apparently, they shouldn't feel anything, not even if you cut them off an arm."

Athrun nodded. "I kicked him in the side and he didn't even bat an eyelid."

"Sure," Yzak noted, narrowing his icy eyes. "The doctors assume those guys need the drugs to bear the cybernetic implants. It shouldn't be too comfortable to have those things embedded on your body. And inside your head."

Yzak had a troubled frown on his face that Athrun imitated. It was just too cruel to think of Nicol reduced in that state, and the fact he was alive did not ease the anguish, but brought only a feeble relief. Athrun was sorely conscious he was scared when he should be exultant —hadn't he grieved over Nicol's loss for a good portion of his life?— and the excruciating irony of the whole situation was painful like an old wound tore open. "These guys," he said to Yzak. "They remind me a bit the Extendeds."

"So do you think they might have been brainwashed?" Dearka asked.

"Well, it would explain many things," Yzak replied, pausing a moment to bring the cup of coffee to his lips. "He might have lost his memory or suffered forced re-education, or both things." The silver-haired young man shook his head. "But I won't rely on this hypothesis too much. Our brain structure is different from that of the Naturals. We are psychologically and physically stronger, so manipulative methods and chemical brainwashing don't work for us."

Athrun nodded. He would have liked to believe the person he met the day before was not responsible for his actions, but the Orb Admiral knew he had not the luxury to indulge in that dream. Because Yzak was right, it was unlikely that a Coordinator could be manipulated into killing those of his own kin, and Nicol— it gave Athrun shivers just to think at him in that way —had seemed focused and controlled. So there might be another explanation for that attack. Athrun took a sip of coffee to mask his discomfort. The assault had been cruel, and hadn't he learned from his own father that pursuing a personal vendetta could turn a decent man into a genocidal maniac? After so many years, could Nicol have become insanely ruthless to that extent?

"Still, our main problem remains. Why Lacus?" Yzak asked no one in particular, as if he had read Athrun's mind.

"Why not?" Dearka replied. "She has enemies on both sides, Naturals and Coordinators."

Yzak shook his head. "Sure. But, as we said during the meeting, her death wouldn't change the balance of power on PLANTs, or the almost excellent relations between the PLANTs and Earth. A posthumous revenge makes just a little bit more of sense," the silver-haired youth said, glancing at Athrun. "There is only room for another hypothesis that I asked Shiho and her squad to study. As you know, she leads a military investigation team."

"Which supposition?" Athrun and Dearka asked as one.

Yzak's smiled coldly, as if he was savoring the answer. "What if Lacus was not the primary target?"

* * *

_**Nassau, April 15, C.E. '72**_

The peace reached between Earth and the PLANTs had not lead to complete disarmament across the world. Treaties were signed, but the dominant countries still introduced technological improvements into their arsenals, maintaining and modernizing their armies. All the researches leading to create new weapons were not interrupted, especially those financed by the mysterious cartel of multinationals called Logos.

It was the dawn of an already hot and humid spring morning when a tall, grey-haired man arrived at the Atlantic Federation research centre in Nassau, introducing himself as Lord Djibril, the spokesman for the institute sponsors. He had ordered the staff to immediately illustrate the results of the project. Then he had reunited everyone, scientists and Coordinators, in the largest room, showing what would happen if they had the stupid idea to betray Logos.

"Explosive nanocapsules, so? I see you _really_ trust us," the muscular Coordinator called Lex ironically said, letting out a hearty laugh and nodding to the incinerated carcass of a large rodent used as a demonstration. The man crossed the powerful arms in front of him, staring without any fear at Lord Djibril.

Djibril twisted his lips in a cynical smile. "Don't tell me you thought we would let you wander here freely?"

"Of course not, we knew you had something up to your sleeve to keep us under your control. But to reveal the existence of those nanocapsules months later they were inoculated us, only confirms us that you, Naturals, are always suspicious rats."

"We just wanted to make sure we could really trust you. In all of these months you never tried to escape, so we decided it was safe enough to let you know that you couldn't anyway," Djibril said in an unctuous tone.

Lex looked at him with a disgusted grimace. "And where do you think we could go? You _created_ us to be dependent on you. These implants keep us alive but they need constant maintenance only this research centre can provide. Not to mention the painkillers we cannot find anywhere on this cursed planet or on the PLANTs."

"Bravo, you learned the lesson well. Remember, you are dead in the eyes of the world. And if you want to stay alive you should obey. Otherwise..."Djibril indicated behind him the carcass. The stench of burnt flesh still heavily hung in the room. "The capsules are activated by a code we possess," he explained, his face a mask of sadistic enjoyment. "A unique cryptogram for each one of you. Moreover, they are programmed to explode anyway if the brain electrical activity stops for twenty minutes. We don't want to risk your bodies being recovered by our enemies. Now, is everything clear?"

"Don't worry," Lex replied. "I doubt there is someone here who wants to experience his death again. So, in the end do you want us to work for your organization?"

"Of course. Why cure you otherwise?" Djibril indicated Lex's mates, gathered behind his shoulders. "You are one of our most expensive, and successful investments. If you are alive you've only to thank us, that's why, yes, you're definitely going to be our loyal soldiers."

"You are nuts if you think we're going to kill our fellow Coordinators for your racist ideas."

Djibril snickered at Lex's blunt remark. "We had expected some resistance from you," the Logos delegate replied. "But you should not worry about the targets. We are a big organization, but our influence is still consolidating on Earth. There are plenty of things you can do for us without being directly involved in skirmishes with the ZAFT forces. I suppose it won't be a problem for you to assassinate Naturals, am I right?"

"Of course not. But, still—"

"It's not a deal, patchworker monster!" Djibril spat, narrowing his eyes and gesturing all the group of Coordinators. "You are an insult to Mother Nature, abominable creatures that should be destroyed. Sure, you are a valuable investment to us, but remember you are not irreplaceable. You disgust me, and I don't trust you enough to use you against your own kin, but don't forget who you owe your life to." The Logos representative indicated the carcass again. "A life that can be terminated any time. So, get ready, your first missions and destinations will be delivered in two days."

At that point Cecilia sighed, deeply worried by the disturbing display of coercion Lord Djibril was exhibiting, a man she had found repulsive from the very first moment. Introducing himself to the scientists, Djibril had shaken the hand of Cecilia in a soft and slippery grip, and the young woman had to fight the temptation to flee to disinfect her limb. To watch him now menacing her beloved creatures was a torment for the scientist, even if she knew this moment would have arrived, sooner or later.  
She froze, seeing the Logos representative turn his eyes on the group of the five youngest Coordinators, who stood a little apart from the rest of their companions. Djibril was looking at her friends —because Cecilia now considered them as such— in the same way an engineer evaluates a new set of Mobile Suits. Then he raised his finger.

"You two, with bionic optical implants. S07NX and S21NX, please join the others," Djibril ordered, deceptively nice. "Your ocular systems are already fully operational, and that's what we need in this moment. We lack good snipers."

Cecilia felt her heart miss a beat. S07 was the only girl in the group, and S21 none other than Nicol. Without even thinking of the consequences, she decided to intervene. The scientist made a step forward, feeling her co-workers' eyes on her. Lenk Granato, now behind her, whispered something Cecilia pretended not to hear. "They do not go anywhere," she declared and, after a moment, the cold stare of Djibril crucified her.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice a curious combination of surprise and anger.

The young scientist simply raised her chin, with a look of serene dignity painted all over her face. For that, Cecilia inwardly tanked her immense ego. There was no way he could intimidate her, not when all of her co-workers and patients were looking at the scene. "They are too young," she stated. "If you read those files we provided you, you should know they must be kept under continuous observation, because their implants need constant check-ups and replacements. In addition, because of the repeated surgical interventions, they have yet to complete their training. Believe me, now these two will only be a burden."

Djibril's stare on Cecilia melted from surprised to menacing but, before he could insult her, Lenk's voice echoed in the room. "She's right, Lord Djibril" the Director of the Institute thundered. "I strongly advise you to postpone the deployment of S07 and S21, unless you do not want to give a weapon to someone whose hands could tremble in the worst possible moment."

Lex laughed at those words. "You should listen to them, Djibril. I saw a couple of weeks ago the assassination of the President of the South Africa Union and, believe me, your sniper was damn lucky not to blow _your_ head away, since you were so close to the poor bastard."

Cecilia was extremely pleased to see a flash of terror pass in Dijibril's eyes. The Logos spokesman seemed to swallow the rage, then he measured Lenk in front of him before nodding.  
"Good. It's a relevant point." Djibril threw a scornful glance at Cecilia. "I'll be here again in three months, Dr. Jesek, prepare the subjects in due time. And send me the details of their progresses, I want to be constantly informed."

Cecilia nodded, cursing the man in her mind, just wanting him to leave as soon as possible. The young scientist remained stuck on her place, anticipating the moment when she would be free to close her laboratory door behind her, but Lenk, passing beside her to accompany Lord Djibril to the exit, shattered her dreams hissing an order with a serious tone he hardly ever had: "In five minutes in my office."

* * *

The scene reminded Cecilia of something. It was a repetition of what had happened a few months earlier, but back then her boss had seemed more worried than angry. Now, Lenk was clearly furious.  
Cecilia had declined the invitation to sit down, so both were standing near her mentor's desk and, despite the scientist was a tall woman, he towered over her. More intimidated now then when she was in front of Djibril, Cecilia decided to attack first. "No one informed me of those nanocapsules. I have all the rights to—"

Lenk's expression stiffened. "Did you really think those Coordinators would be left free to wander around the Institute without a proper assurance? Are you forgetting those guys are enemies and,first and foremost,walking military secrets? Logos not required to tell you anything not directly involved in your researches. Remember you are an employee here, and those Coordinators their investments. Your behavior was unacceptable," he bluntly shouted. "What were you thinking to achieve talking to Djibril like that?"

Cecilia shook her head, deeply distressed even if she had expected to be scolded. Yet, Lenk's words were hurting her in a way she had not anticipated. "I cannot believe it," Cecilia articulated, trying to defend herself. "Are you blaming _me_ because I wanted to secure my work from unnecessary damage?"

"No. Because you used that poor excuse to protect your lover."

As his abrupt words hit home, Cecilia distinctly felt the blood leave her face. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, somewhat succeeding in the titanic task to keep her voice steady.

"Don't take me for a fool, Cecilia. I'm older than you and I've been through these things too. Do you think I don't know what is going on between you and S21NX, our number Twenty-one?" Lenk vigorously shook his head, while a painful expression emerged on his features. "I should have stopped you immediately, but I let it pass because... because I thought it was just a whim that would slowly fade away. I'd never expected you could jeopardize your career to screw a Coordinator. But you've crossed the line today. You put yourself and all of us in danger for what?"

The metaphor 'feel like a rat in a trap' had never been clear to Cecilia until that moment. She wanted only to leave but she could not, caged there by Lenk's rightful accusations. The scientist exhaled deeply, trying an impossible justification. "It's not like you think. He was suffering. He is the youngest, and the most miserable of them. It was you who wanted me to be more friendly with him!"

Lenk stared at her. "Cecilia, you have a weird concept of being friendly to someone. I can understand you were worried. And, yes, I remember I recommended you not to treat those Coordinators like dolls. Subject Twenty-one in particular. But I'd never thought you cared so much for that guy to actually sleep with him!"

Her mentor looked away, obviously embarrassed, and Cecilia had to lean on the chair next to her not to fall on her knees. "You shouldn't listen the stupid gossips of my co-workers," she said weakly, knowing how inadequate her defense was.

"I have the evidences, Cecilia. You know very well this place is full of cameras, including the rooms of the Coordinators. Well, now I can tell you the sad truth. Our apartments are also under surveillance."

This time Cecilia had to sit down, hand pressed on her mouth so she didn't scream in agony. To discover she was for those Logos nothing but a regular employee —susceptible of being controlled—, was a far cry from the reprimand she expected for her insubordination against Djibril. Cecilia fought back the tears, feeling stupid for believing for all of those months she was free to do whatever she wanted, protected by her status of senior researcher. It had been a mistake. And probably there was something else to add to her misery, judging by the distasteful grimace creasing Lenk's lips.

"Do not worry," he said. "I destroyed the videos more compromising. I won't leave you at the mercy of that bastard Djibril. But you must understand, Cecilia. Your relationship with that Coordinator is wrong at so many levels that it's beyond me how you, so intelligent, could ended up involved in something like this. Cecilia, how old is he? Fifteen, sixteen? He's a child, damn it!" Lenk swore, his face red with anger. "Not only professionally, but also from an ethical point of view what you're doing with him is _wrong_. He's your patient and you took advantage of him when he was so vulnerable."

Speechless, Cecilia stared at Lenk's face trying to discern if he was joking. Did he really believe what he had just said? It seemed so to her, judging from his eyes, clouded with fury.  
"Oh no," she responded, exhaling deeply and collecting all of her pride. "First, do not begin to lecture me about the age issue. Wasn't you who said it was _right_ for him to be sent on the frontlines because at fourteen Coordinators are adults? How come he's now a _child_?" Cecilia hissed. "And, then, what does it mean the rest? I assure you it was fully consensual, much more than to turn him into a guinea pig for the Alliance."

Lenk smacked his hand flat on the desk, shaking his head. "Consensual?" he yelled. "You boast you don't care anything about psychology, but I suppose you know what the Stockholm Syndrome is, am I right? That boy is a textbook case. Or do you really believe he agreed in having sex with you because he was honestly infatuated? Wake up, Cecilia. He was traumatized, alone and helpless, and you showed kindness to him, you are one of those who hold him captive here, but also someone who could make him feel better. His life depended on you, so, to stay alive he only had to please you. And so he did, consciously or not!"

Cecilia gulped, deeply saddened and bewildered. It was not like that, she was _sure_ it was not like that. "First of all, what's between us is no one's concern but our own. And then, you know what? You're just a hypocrite!" she roared. "Are you accusing me of rape, when you used him for the Alliance's experiments? Wasn't he too young and traumatized for that too? Believe what you want, but just don't accuse me of manipulating Twenty-one. I just wanted him to be good, to experience something that at his age should be granted. While you, what did you want for him? Nothing but the quiet consensus to be transformed into a mindless killer."

At that point Cecilia's boss took a chair and limply sat in front of her, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clenched in a fist. His angry expression eventually dissolved into an almost pitiful one. "Let's make it clear. I do not care about your sex life, and your reasoning is flawless, but it's imperative you understand you are risking your life, Cecilia. And not only yours." Lenk tilted his head, intently looking at her. "Those Coordinators will help the Logos because they cannot do anything else, not live normally anymore nor return to the PLANTs. They are dead for the world. But Logos knows it is something that can blow up in its face. We created the perfect weapons that Logos has no way of controlling."

"What about those explosive nanocapsules?"

Lenk shook his head. "Bullshit. You heard Djibril. For Logos, those Coordinators are the most valuable investment, and while the nanocapsules are not a void threat, I'm sure they won't ruin their dolls if it's not absolutely necessary. Not if they have _other ways_ to force the Coordinators to obey them."

Cecilia nodded, not able to tear her eyes off her mentor and trying desperately not to cry. But it was hard when every word of Lenk's was an almost physical stab to her heart.

"Now, have you realized, Cecilia, in what kind of mess you involved yourself in, dragging that kid with you?"

She managed to nod again, finally losing the battle against the tears that blurred her vision.

"Twenty-one is smart," Lenk continued, now with a shade of compassion in his voice. "And you made a perfect job with him. When the treatments are completed that Coordinator will become one of their spearheads, and if Logos knew about your relationship, it would oblige him to do anything. Would you like this for him?"

Cecilia shook her head. "No! Of course not, but—" A deep sob erupted from her throat interrupting her, and her mentor took her hands in his, smiling softly.

"I should have foreseen that sooner or later my little girl would grow tired of having to deal only with inanimate computers and experiments. You have always been so uninterested to people of your age that I understand how you could have found pleasant the company of that Coordinator. I'm sorry for having been so hard on you, and now I'm sure you're really fond of him, but you _must_ understand that your relationship is dangerous. For both of you."

"I know Lenk, is that—" Cecilia could not finish the sentence, as she suddenly felt silly. _Very_ silly. The scientist freed her fingers from Lenk's grasp and nervously rubbed her eyes. "What a stupid situation," she snapped. "Look," Cecilia said, looking her mentor straight in the eyes, ashamed for the pitiful show she had offered till that moment. Because she was better than that, she was stronger than that. "Why are you convinced Logos can threaten me? I also have some value for them. Their magnificent project started and it's finally bearing fruits because of me!" The young woman slapped her hand on her chest, eyes blazing with pride. "Specimens and synthetic materials can be replaced, but not the ideas. I am precious to them as much as those Coordinators. Or more, probably."

Impressed by her defense, Lenk leaned against the back in his chair. "Nobody is irreplaceable, Cecilia."

"So why don't you put one of my envious assistants in my place? They are good and motivated, Lenk, but they will never be at my level." She gritted her teeth. "There are things that only I know how to do, and new theories I have not yet developed that will improve the performance of those systems. But if Logos dares to menace me or my creatures, I swear I'll destroy everything."  
Not bearing to stay in that room any longer Cecilia stood up and her mentor did the same.

Lenk seemed no longer angry, and he was staring at her almost amused. "Well, you gave me another proof of the bad temper you possess. You have a point, Cecilia, but remember who we're facing. You're young, and now you think that nothing is precluded to a scientist with your abilities, but keep in mind Logos is very powerful, and it might decide to get rid of you if you put a spoke in their wheel too many times."

Cecilia shrugged. "I'm not going to end my relationship with Twenty-one just out of fear."

"You are as stubborn as a mule," Lenk exhaled, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "But, please, be cautious, as the consequences of your actions impinge on us all. And never forget it's with one of their investments you are playing. That guy is very nice, almost too much for being a ZAFT soldier, but he remains a weapon."

"I know. I turned him into what he is now."

For long seconds her boss's look on Cecilia seemed exasperated, but then a pale, comforting smile emerged on his lips. "So, also keep in mind what he will be ordered do to for Logos, because there may come a day when you won't be able to fix your toy anymore. You are like a daughter to me, Cecilia, I don't want to see you with a broken heart."

She shook her head. "Then, I'll do anything to prevent it."

Cecilia left Lenk's office trembling from tension. She was almost feeling nauseous, and the only thing the young scientist wanted was to reach her laboratory to close her up inside. She made her way to it, replaying in her mind everything her boss had said to her and hating herself for being so weak. But Lenk was right, of course. She had known a relationship could become a boomerang for her career, but the scientist was ready to pay the price of it. What Cecilia had not predicted, it was that she would not be the one to fully bear all the consequences.

Her eyebrows plunged into a frown that made her look older. '_Such a silly, childish mistake I made,'_ Cecilia said to herself, looking frantically for a solution. Then, she forced a smile to her lips and opened the door she had reached.

Nicol was waiting for her inside the lab, and greeted the scientist with one of his warm smiles as soon as he saw her. That gesture, exclusively reserved for her, erased from Cecilia's mind all the doubts Lenk had planted on her. '_Stockholm Syndrome. Impossible. I didn't take advantage of the situation. We were equally confused. It was the first time for both of us.'_

Lips curled into a grimace that pretended to be smile, Cecilia reached Nicol, stepping into his embrace and leaning her head on his shoulder. He had grown taller in the latest months, maturing into an attractive young man.

_'Could I fall for you if you had been a normal guy and we had met under other circumstances?' _Cecilia could not stop herself thinking_. 'I don't know. Perhaps I'd have found you too ordinary. And you? Would you have considered me different and unfriendly, as everyone thinks I am?' _Relaxing in her lover's arms, Cecilia swiftly put aside her emotional problems, struggling with a much more vital dilemma. _'I don't care. In any case, and even more if you are here with me only because you thought you had to, the only thing I can give you in return is the assurance you won't ever be hurt again.'

* * *

_

In her arms, Nicol felt safe. The former ZAFT pilot could not fathom if he had consented to be Cecilia's lover because he genuinely liked her, or only because he had not wanted to displease the young scientist, but the whole situation did not bother him in the slightest. On the contrary, to be able to love her was the proof he was still human. _Somewhat_.

"You are already my most perfect creature, and I'll improve you even more. So you won't cry or suffer anymore for the evilness humans do, my sweet Nicol," Cecilia was whispering in his ear.

The scientist was so completely dedicated to him it was moving. Nicol was sure she would have never abandoned him like Athrun and his companions had done. Not when Cecilia had demonstrated that very morning she was ready to forfeit her life and her career for him, and although Nicol sensed it was slightly immoral to cheer for that, it was a solace to know she would never betray him.

Unnoticed to Cecilia, the lovely smile that had graced her lover's lips till that moment disappeared, replaced by a frigid, empty expression. Not much different from that of the dolls the scientist loved to collect when she was a child.

* * *

**Notes: thanks to all readers and reviewers! I'm grateful to all of you for the kind words :)  
**

**Ciao!**


	6. Determination

**Betareading by** **Strata-Assassin**

* * *

**Determination**

_**Aprilius City, December 14, C.E. 81**_

Athrun, Yzak and Dearka joined Shiho Hahnenfuss in the same room of the previous meeting. There, the serious and very professional wife of Yzak showed them the face of a man on the main holographic screen.

At first sight it did not say anything to Athrun, then the Admiral realized. He had glimpsed the man for a second before he had disappeared in the car with Lacus, hours before. He was the man she was leading to the Supreme Council, the one who had died in her place. No one had introduced the man to him, but now Athrun remembered Yzak revealing he was a former Earthling politician.

"Alexander Borodin," the polite yet firm voice of Shiho explained. "He owned a private television empire during the Second Bloody Valentine War. Involved in the scandal of Logos, he succeeded in dismissing all charges against him. After the war, Borodin used his large wealth to build his political career, becoming the Prime Minister of the Eurasian Federation. But his fortune did not last long. Various sex scandals undermined his authority, forcing Borodin to resign five years ago. Then, after an international arrest warrant issued by the Atlantic Federation three months ago, he was granted asylum on the PLANTs."

"With which allegations he was persecuted?" Dearka asked.

"Corruption and money laundering."

The blond grunted in disgust, glancing at Yzak. "A true benefactor of mankind. And what was such a criminal doing in the PLANTs? "

Yzak leaned forward on the table. "The new Eurasian government wanted to get rid of him, but you know how these things go, they didn't even want to do a favor to their former enemies. So they have seen fit to send Borodin to the PLANTs, where he would have been untouchable. Since then he has lived here in a kind of fortress he only left yesterday morning for a hearing in front of the Council. The Councillors wanted to know more about the whole issue."

"And I hope also to reconsider his status of political refugee," Athrun snapped.

Yzak replied with a frown. "Why? It's disgusting for me too, but we don't want to dispense favors to the Atlantic Federation either."

"So you allowed an affiliate of Logos to hide here..."

Before Yzak could retort, Shiho interrupted the heated conversation jumping to her feet. "Please. These political issues are none of our interest now. The fact remains that Borodin had many enemies who, unable to have his head on Earth where he lived protected by a private army, might have decided to organize his assassination here."

Athrun thoughtfully nodded. "And who better than a Coordinator could do such a thing, baffling our security?"

At that point Shiho projected on the screen a three-dimensional map of the place of the attack, marking with a red dot the building of the museum.  
"From the fourth floor the view on the road was perfect," she explained. "Once he forced the occupants of the car to come out, the sniper would have had an easy game to hit the target. But he found Lacus exactly on the firing line." On the screen now digital images of the former idol and Alexander Borodin materialized, pierced by red lines. "Do you see the trajectory of the bullet? Our sniper could have still hit him, because she was shorter than Borodin, but the Eurasian stumbled, forcing the sniper to―"

"Shoot through her neck to hit the man in front of Lacus," Derka ended, with a tone of voice that seemed almost admired.

Shiho confirmed with a nod. "Yes, the bullet we found was armored, so the sniper was sure it would have penetrated Lacus' body without stopping, and it did exactly that, blowing Borodin's head from hydrodynamic pressure."

"Brilliant. But he also had a considerable amount of sheer luck not to kill Lacus or to make her a paraplegic," Yzak considered.

"Piercing her neck from side to side without causing permanent damage seems a bit more than a lucky shot," said Athrun, earning a cold glare from Yzak.

"What do you mean? That guy shot the girlfriend of your best friend and you..."

Athrun raised both hands. He knew when Yzak had that aggressive tone of voice was better not to attack him head-on. Athrun did not want to give his friend the impression he was defending the sniper. _'Nicol,'_ he corrected himself, proceeding to explain to Yzak his point of view. "I was just pointing out that this hypothesis might be the right one. As we said during our meeting with Commander Kappler, from that position the sniper could have easily killed Lacus. But since she's still alive, the only possible explanation is that she wasn't the target from the start."

The young Admiral clenched his teeth while a heavy silence fell upon them. He was feeling an underlying tension between them that was just waiting to explode, but no one seemed to have the guts to expose their dilemma. He opened his mouth, but Shiho preceded him.

"Yzak, Athrun... enough. You're arguing when you should concentrate on the real problem."

"It's easy for you to talk. You are not involved in this!" Yzak snapped, crossing his arms to his chest and staring almost offended at his wife.

Who allowed a pale smile to blossom on her lips. "I do not deny it must be a torture for all of you. But it's because I'm not involved in this that I can have the luxury of being more lucid than you." Shiho exhaled a deep breath, staring thoughtfully at the three young men in front of her. "It's time for you to accept the truth that the sniper who was probably sent to kill Alexander Borodin is your friend, and that he's still out there, but not for the reason Commander Kappler believes."

Carefully avoiding eye contact with his other friends, Athrun laced his fingers together, trying to look as composed as possible. "He has ordered to increase the security at Lacus hospital, and he's there, with all of his men."

"I know. But, if I'm right, Lacus wasn't the target and for sure she's not becoming one." Shiho placed a hand under her chin, biting her lower lip. "We have a companion of our sniper, seriously injured, recovering at a different hospital. Not to mention carrying so many military secrets with him that they will probably allow ZAFT micro and bio engineering technology to take a great leap forward compared to other Earthling armies."

"And this brings us back to our primary question," Yzak said through gritted teeth. "Who on Earth could have sufficient technical knowledge to bring our men back from death? And who the hell could have organized such a well-planned attack here? Who do we have to fear? Still Logos? Or other groups?" Yzak ended, slapping his hand on the table.

Athrun sighed, as Yzak seemed troubled in a way he rarely remembered seeing him. But that was not a normal investigation, they both knew, and Yzak probably just hated, like Athrun, the painful awareness of they own insecurity.

"I don't have an answer for your first question, Yzak," Shiho said, capturing their attention. "But, for the attack, you know there is a group of mercenaries that employs both Naturals and Coordinators for their almost impossible missions."

"Serpent Tail!" Yzak snapped in disgust then looked at Athrun, who nodded firmly. He knew that group very well, and although the Orb government had sometimes relied on their _services_, he knew they could not be completely trusted.

"It could be," Athrun said. "For sure they are the only ones we know to have funds and knowledge to organize something on such a scale. And so brave as to do it in the PLANTs." He looked firmly at Shiho. "Your hypothesis is convincing, and this means the security measures organized to protect Lacus are absolutely useless. Although, it's highly possible that the terrorists will be more interested in freeing their companion."

Yzak rose to his feet, turning towards Dearka. "Go to Lacus' hospital to inform Kappler and make sure that everything is still okay. I'll take my men to secure the institute where the terrorist is recovering."

Dearka looked at him frowning. "So, do you think too they'll try to rescue him?"

"That's what I would do if one of my companions wore military secrets. And that's what the bastards of Serpent Tail would do too," Yzak sneered, without hiding how much he detested them.

Athrun jumped to his feet as well, squaring his shoulders. "I'm coming with you. And don't make that face," he said to Yzak, firmly locking his emerald eyes into the blue ones of his friend. "There's nothing you can say that will keep me here. I have the _right_ to meet him."

Yzak's pale lips tightened. "It might not be a pleasurable reunion."

"I know, but I'm perfectly aware I'm solely responsible of Nicol's 'death', as you yelled at me so many years ago. I _need_ to see him, to ask him why he didn't come back."

"You can come, but do you think he'll even listen to you?"

"Yzak is right, Athrun," said Shiho. "Be careful. Don't forget that is not the person you knew. They have turned our soldiers into hunters, trained to kill, and you'll stand between them and the objective of their mission. Don't get yourself injured, remember you have a family and that…" she paused for a second, her eyes shifting from Athrun to Yzak. Clearly she was addressing those words to both of them. "As you are convinced you are the cause of all of his suffering, Nicol Amalfi could think the same of you."

Athrun nodded, remembering again, with a shudder, the dispassionate look Nicol had shot him, and Cagalli's words. Divided between an understandable fear and sorrow for what his reckless actions had done to Nicol, Athrun followed Yzak and Dearka out of the room.

* * *

_**Lodonia, June 4, C.E. 73**_

As the most cynical politicians had expected, peace between Earth and the PLANTs had not lasted for long. Triggered by the fall of Junius Seven debris, the unsolved tensions deflagrated in a war that was possibly worse than the previous one, and primarily fought on the Earth's soil.

Few months after the outbreak of the conflict, the systematic failures of the 'Druggies' as Mobile Suit pilots had become a strategic liability impossible to correct, so the highest-ranking officers in the Atlantic Federation military establishment, instigated by Logos, deliberated to destroy the laboratory in Lodonia and to eliminate all the Extendeds and the staff there.  
Irony of fate, Lord Djibril himself ordered the former ZAFT pilots in Nassau to take care of the problem.  
The Coordinators had already been deployed to carry out targeted assassinations for Logos, but never used as commando, and what better opportunity to test the skills of the entire group than to unleash them against lunatic teens brainwashed to kill with no mercy?  
As far as they were concerned, the Coordinators had complied with the order with meticulous zeal. Not that they had any chance to refuse and this _work_ looked like a delicious revenge to them. All things considered the Extendeds were the worst enemies of the Coordinators in battle, and to eliminate them looked to the former pilots like a tribute paid to PLANTs.

For them it had been easy to infiltrate the Lodonia research centre, left purposely unattended by the Federation's army. The Extendeds inside tried to retaliate, but there was little they could do with just knives and sub-machine guns against trained, adult soldiers with bionic enhancements and assault rifles. For the Coordinators the _work_ was nothing more than a mass execution.

* * *

The targets were hiding behind benches and chairs scattered here and there in the great hall that probably had hosted some kind of lessons. Through the thermal vision their bodies appeared like red patches, sticking out on the blue and green shadows of the furniture.

Nicol heard a bullet fly past him, and returned fire hitting a couple of those red shapes in the head. They fell, crimson pools spreading around their bodies. He looked around. While some targets were still hiding, as if trying to disappear, others moved quickly towards him and his group. The Coordinator beside him, a tall man called Joona, giggled.

"Shit. They don't understand they are going to die anyway?"

"Would you surrender without even trying? They don't have anything to lose either and, look, those kids are completely stoned," Lex replied, setting his rifle on automatic fire.

Joona snorted laughter. "So can we call this a merciful euthanasia?"

Lex's reply was lost as a round of bullets hit their shelters. The Extended had probably found an automatic weapon somewhere. Not that it was going to save them, Nicol grimly thought, putting his gun in the holster and bringing up his rifle too. The three Coordinators leaned forward and took aim, firing simultaneously against the horde of Extendeds who dropped like flies. Behind them, humanoid silhouettes left their shelters and rushed towards the back doors.  
Nicol clenched his teeth, switching from thermal to normal view and raising his hand to fix the protective glasses. With his bionic eyes he did not need infrared goggles anymore.

"Cursed bastards. They are using the Extendeds as human shields."

The green-haired youth nodded at Lex's comment, noticing that those people fleeing the massacre were not kids, but adults wearing lab coats. He had just to exchange a look with his companion to decide what to do. Carefully avoiding to be hit, Nicol left the room. As expected, the scientists were not realizing in their panic that they had no place to hide anymore since Logos had issued their death sentence.

Nicol narrowed his new eyes, cynically observing the men crowded against the closed doors of the two lifts. Shouts erupted from the group when they spotted him, but the former pilot did not even flinch. Nicol pitied the Extendeds, innocents turned into killing machines, but he had no sympathy for the scientists who had raped their minds. Those who created the monsters that every day on the battlefield killed so many ZAFT soldiers deserved to die. He set the rifle on single-shot and took aim with a confidence that would have scared his old self. In a sense, it was satisfying to take their life one by one.

Nicol quickly ended his work and, a few minutes later, the clamour of the gunfire in the room behind him stopped as well. In the deadly silence that followed, the Coordinator watched Joona walking out carrying a young child in his arms. She was a girl, no older than twelve, her body torn by the bullets. On her belly was positioned a sub machine-gun, placed there like if it was the kid's favorite doll. It gave Nicol a disturbing sensation to see that broken princess, dressed in a light blue garb now soaked in blood: the nasty consequences of his actions sometimes were difficult to bear.

"Throw this among the scientists. The order is to pretend they killed each other."

Nicol nodded, cringing inside at Joona's choice of words. He took the girl from his arms, as gently as he could. She was still warm, and her face had the pretty plumpness of adolescence. But the deep, violet shadows under her eyes and the sadistic grin forever stuck on her lips betrayed the devastating experiments that had destroyed her mind.

Nicol carefully laid the body on the floor, wasting a minute to pull her eyelids down over her lifeless green eyes. The hypocrisy of the gesture was obvious to him, and probably Joona was sneering behind his back, but Nicol did not care. It was through simple things like that the former pianist constantly reminded himself he still had a soul under his synthetic skin.

* * *

From the outside, the building that hosted the Lodonia research centre did not seem a structure capable of hiding such a nightmare. It resembled instead to a rich mansion, and probably it had been in the past. The neoclassical style influence was evident in the simple geometrical architecture and in the facade, adorned with a row of ionic columns.

However its decadent elegance was lost for the Coordinators who had gathered in front of the building; they had no love for Earthling art, but almost all had smiles on their faces. The mission had been a success; there were no causalities or injured among them, and the Extendeds were no longer a threat to the ZAFT soldiers.

They headed to the flyer, ready to leave for Nassau, and Nicol was going to do the same when Lex laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you are not coming with us. You have an invitation to join the supervisor on his personal plane."

"Why?"

"Ask him in person, he didn't say anything else," replied the older Coordinator, pointing his thumb behind him, towards the hill overlooking the laboratory. There, a blond-haired man stood still near a vertical take off plane.

Nicol nodded, feeling slightly nervous. To be called to report was never reassuring.

The supervisor assigned by Logos to command them during the operation was a tall man with an athletic frame and short blond hair. Curiously, he wore a mask that covered the eyes and the upper part of his face; under it, his lips were curled in a sarcastic smile that suggested an arrogant and aggressive temperament. The man stared at Nicol, almost examining him. "Wow, you've grown tall since the last time I saw you. How old are you now?"

The former ZAFT pilot frowned at the odd question. Had he already met the guy in Nassau? Nicol did not remember him. Nonetheless, he obediently replied. "Seventeen, sir."

The smile on the man's face grew larger. "Impressive. Come on, let's board the plane, we have something to discuss. And forget about the formalities. I am no longer in the military... neither are you."

Nicol followed him, vaguely intrigued by the strange man, who reminded him of someone. His voice rang a bell in his head, but Nicol could not figure out where he could have met the blond guy before.

The interior of the aircraft was luxurious, with seats lined in soft ecru leather and furniture in fine wood and anodized steel, certainly the work of some famous designer. Every inch was a suitable transport for the rich owners of the world.

Nicol sat down, remembering only then he still had the assault rifle across his shoulders. He carefully laid it on the carpet, almost afraid to damage the soft beige surface. Seated in front of Nicol, the supervisor of Logos did not seem to have at all the same cares.

He slumped heavily in a seat, resting his boots on the coffee table between them. He stared at Nicol with an amused grin on his face. "Who would have thought... ok, but, first, I need a drink, and you too. You look tense, kid," the man said, pressing a button on the armrest of the seat. A flight attendant materialized beside them, impeccable in her night blue dress. "Gin and tonic for both of us, and pour more gin than tonic for me, honey."

"Not for me. I can't drink alcohol," Nicol pointed out.

His host looked at him, shaking his head. "That sucks, do you know? So, what do you want? Milk?"

The former pilot twisted his lips in an annoyed grimace that made the other laugh. "I was joking," he said. "You're as touchy as I remembered you. Bring him some orange juice," the blond ordered to the woman who bowed and disappeared. Now, the supervisor's eyes rested firmly on Nicol. He took his smartphone, reading something on it. "Nikki Almark. S21NX. You name and project code. Is it correct?"

Nicol nodded, slightly smiling at the fake name Cecilia had invented for him. He did not want to use his real one, but 'Nikki' was close enough, and his lover thought it was cute.

"Do you know what those S and NX stand for?"

The young Coordinator nodded again, not daring to ask the reason of that odd question. The blond man should already know the answer. "S is for the name of the project, STORM, and NX is for Nexus."

"Exactly!" the supervisor barked, slamming a hand on his thigh. "Nexus. Those of you who undergone the most extensive reconstruction. And who are, excluding the mobile suits, the most advanced weapon of Logos." His smile, that had never disappeared, turned icy. "Just twelve of you over thirty-one Coordinators involved in that project."

The flight assistant came back in that moment, setting their drinks on the table. Only then she cast a quick look to Nicol, who was not wearing contacts. Nicol saw her pale, and he lowered his head, not wanting to see the shock painted on her face.

The supervisor waited till she was gone, slowly sipping his drink. "Is it so embarrassing for you to have those things? Is it disgusting?" he asked Nicol, not hiding an ironic leer in his voice.

He shook his head, not surprised by the question. Like everyone else that man should assume he was scared, but it was not exactly the case. "Not at all," Nicol replied, staring at the supervisor. "It's painful sometimes, but if I hadn't these implants I would be dead."

The man seemed intrigued by his answer. "And is it funny?"

At a loss, Nicol blinked. What did that mean?

"Oh, come on. If you're not afraid of yourself than you must be proud, am I right?" The man put his glass on the table, leaning forward. "Aren't you excited for what you can do? Do you realize what you have become? Isn't it a bit like piloting a brand new mobile suit, Nicol Amalfi?"

The man had let his real name slip through the words so casually that Nicol almost lost it. Then he realized. In the few seconds that followed, his mind processed the new information and all the possible things he could do to remedy, while the blond supervisor continued to stare at him, perpetually amused.

"Are you planning to kill me and hijack the plane?" he finally asked Nicol. "You can do the first thing easily, but you'll never flee from Logos' grasp with those implants that can be traced everywhere."

Nicol dismissed the reply with a shrug. The guy was damn right, of course, so the only remaining thing was to deny he had ever heard that name. Once again, he thanked his almost expressionless face. "I don't know what you are talking about."

The blond leaned back on his chair, the drink again in his hand. "Hey, kid, it's normal you don't want your bosses to know your real name. It'd be a problem for you if they discovered they have in their hands not a regular rookie but the son of a bigwig of PLANTs but, calm down, you have nothing to fear from me." The man casually waved his hand around. "There are no cameras or bugs here, we can talk freely." Then he raised his glass, as if to mimic a toast. "I didn't tell anyone, of course. But, rest assured, I almost had a heart attack when I saw your profile. They did a good job on your face, you're almost unrecognizable, but the fact they found you in the wreckage of one of the prototypes revealed me for sure you were the enthusiastic boy who followed Athrun Zala like a shadow."

The mention of his old friend was like a blow below the belt and Nicol, even if he tried not to, felt his hands tremble. It had never happened since the implants were completed. "No. It is not true..." he tried to deny, slowly shaking his head and feeling his self control fade. That was not a good thing. Nicol focused his eyes on the blond supervisor, ready to kill him to protect his identity, no matter how futile it was.

"Fool, don't you see I'm on your side?" the man opened his hands in a reassuring gesture, and speaking hastily, as if he had sensed Nicol's intentions. "It's been a pleasure to find out you were alive, against impossible odds. It was devastating when I was told you had been killed in action. Calm down, now. Very few people besides myself know the identity of the pilot of the Blitz, and none of them have connections with Logos."

Still nervous, Nicol almost stammered. "How do you know that name?"

The supervisor nodded this time. "I see. You have yet to recognize me." His voice softened in a devious, low tone. As a consumed actor, the man placed a hand on his chest. "Have you really forgotten about me, Nicol?"

The green-haired youth blinked, not believing his cybernetic ears. The strangest hypothesis was starting to grow inside him, still, Nicol could not accept it. It was true he had almost survived the impossible, but at least he was on Earth. As far as he knew, the man he was thinking about had been vaporized in space. There was no way he could be alive. Or not?

"Comm…" Nicol tentatively articulated, stopping midsentence for the embarrassment.

The man in front of him erupted in a hearty laugh, than his hands run to his face, removing the mask. "Now do you remember who I am, Nicol? Luckily for you, I'm not Le Creuset."

Nicol's lips tighten. He wasted a few seconds to scan the man's retina: the result was negative as he expected. Even the powerful Logos had never been able to obtain the data of the PLANTs' citizens, but Nicol did not really need them, because he had recognized the man at first sight. The person in front of him, albeit with a large scar that disfigured the upper part of his face, was none other than Miguel Ayman, his mentor in the early months he had spent in ZAFT. The man who was the first victim of the Strike.

Amazed and unsure about what to do, Nicol leaned heavily against the back of his seat. "I don't believe you," he whispered.

"Don't be an idiot! I can prove it, of course. I can tell you things about your and your friends back on the _Vesalius_, but I don't want to embarrass you any further." The man who claimed to be Miguel winked. "I've the sensation you still remain the naïve boy who blushed when someone complimented him on his piloting skills. You don't have anything to fear from me, I'm still your friend."

_Friend_. Nicol could fairly say that Lex, and some of the Coordinators in Nassau, were his friends, but he was conscious they were not like the guys he had known in his adolescence. The boys with whom he had fought, the ones who betrayed… Running his hand through his short hair, Nicol stopped that train of thought. It was still too painful, and he did not want to show how vulnerable he was. Then, torn between diffidence and nostalgia, the former pilot realized he _did_ want to believe the man in front of him, more than anything he had ever wanted in his life.

"How did you survive?" he asked, intently staring at the supervisor.

The other just nodded. "It's not a long story. The guys of the Junk Guild found me adrift among the debris of Heliopolis. I was injured, but alive. Slowly I recovered but, by then, the war was already ended and I had lost my will to return to PLANTs. So I hid on Earth."

"What about that scar?"

"Eh, that's just bad luck. The synthetic skin doesn't work for me, and my body strangely rejects even my own skin auto transplantation. I guess my immune system is much stronger than the average of our kin." The man shrugged. "But it's just a cosmetic problem I can solve wearing this mask. I do not mind it. You know, it creates an aura of mystery and women just _love_ it. I bet Le Creuset kept his for the same reason!"

The man winked, as overconfident as Nicol remembered him. Maybe it was because he desperately needed to connect to his old self, but the green-haired youth decided in that moment to put aside his doubts and, at least, to listen to what 'Miguel' wanted from him. Nicol sighed deeply. "Why are you here, Miguel? Why are you working for Logos?"

His old tutor put the mask on the table and took the glass again, frowning noticing it was half empty. "It's you who are working for them, not me," he slowly said without looking at Nicol. "It's you who are behaving like a well-trained puppy to them."

"What?" Nicol snapped, hit by the insult well conceived behind the sugared tone.

"You can't deny, my young friend, you have been working for Logos for months, now." Miguel flashed a smile, that had a spiteful edge to it.

Nicol shook his head, shifting uncomfortably on the seat. "I hope you won't believe I did it on purpose. I hate them. But there's nothing I can… we can do against Logos."

Although he said there were no microphones, Miguel lowered his voice. "I remember you only joined ZAFT to protect the PLANTs, so I've always known you could not betray us to that extent," he almost whispered, sounding reassuring. "So I suppose that you, like all of your companions, are tired of working for Logos, am I right?"

"Of course," Nicol hastily confirmed. "But there is nothing we can do to disengage from them. Since you qualified as our supervisor, you should know the details of our… _nature_."

"Yes, and about the explosive nanocapsules. However, if we could disable them—"

"What would change? Do you think we could come back to the PLANTs reduced like this? Do you think any of us want to go back?"

Nicol looked away, deeply disturbed. None of the Coordinators in Nassau ever talked about their past life, as if it was irrelevant. And it was, for what they were now forced to do, but that did not mean Nicol did not always think about his home, a place he could not return to anymore.

Leisurely, savoring his drink, Miguel exhibited an almost smug smile. "No, of course you don't want, not even if you had that possibility. None of you can pick up your lives where you left it. Because you are not the same anymore, and you are dissimilar from us, much like the Coordinators are different from the Naturals."

Nicol felt the uneasiness boiling inside him, fed by Miguel's insensitive words. He knew his former tutor was telling him the truth, but that did not mean he was ready to accept it from someone else. A complete stranger that, perhaps, had been someone he knew, years before. Nicol's eyes returned to Miguel, cold and unforgiving, but, even if few people could bear that kind of look, Miguel continued to chat almost happily.

"And this is even more so on the PLANTs, with all the security and DNA controls that are imposed on citizens." The blond man caressed his cheekbone, just below his right eye. "You could conceal for a while your _nature_, as you called it, but not for long. On the PLANTs, wherever you'd go you would always be considered nothing more than a killing machine, just like the Extendeds. And I'm sure you do not want to become the puppet of people like Gilbert Durandal who, believe me, I've my reasons to think is as crazy as the late Patrick Zala."

"Not if I can avoid it," Nicol replied. If there was a thing he had learned from his tragic experience, was that words like honor, loyalty, fatherland, were just empty concepts used by politicians to justify their wars. He had fought only to protect the PLANTs populations and if he would be given the opportunity to be free from the Logos' grasp, the last thing Nicol wanted was to be at someone's orders again.

Miguel smiled. A sad, knowing smile, as if he agreed with Nicol's thought. "So, there is only one place where you and the others can disappear. Earth."

Reluctantly, Nicol nodded. Yes, he had reached the same conclusion during his many sleepless nights. Earth was not his home, but it was big enough and its population so genetically assorted it would be rather easy to hide among them. Even for people like he and his companions.

"Here's my proposal, Nicol," Miguel stated, finally finishing his drink. "I infiltrated Blue Cosmos for the purpose to save you and the other Coordinators from Logos. I'm so _imperfect_ now that they didn't believe I could be one of their sworn enemies."

"What about the nanocapsules?"

"You don't have to worry. My group has decided to have all of you on our payroll and, believe me, they will get you. No matter what Blue Cosmos or their rich sponsors think."

Nicol inwardly cringed. He should have known there was a price to pay. "Group?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

A proud smile lightened Miguel's ruined face. "Serpent Tail. You _have_ heard about us, right?"

"Sure. Your bad reputation precedes you."

"Let's not exaggerate!" Miguel laughed. "It's true that we do fight for money, but we are also free to decide what to fight for. Regular armies hate us all, but politicians need us even more. It's us who carry out their impossible missions. "

The former pianist could not conceal a disgusted grimace. "As you said, you are mercenaries who just fight for money."

"You say it like if it was a bad thing."

"It is." Nicol finally decided to take a sip of his orange juice, to disguise his worried face. He would have been happy to leave to their fate the cursed Logos, but he did not know how to judge the fact that Serpent Tail had laid eyes on them. He felt like a box ready to be passed from hand to hand. "Why should we go with you? What would change?" he asked.

Miguel sighed. "Everything. As I told you, you could not return to a normal life, so better if you put your talents to a better use. Do you like to be ordered what to do, and who to kill, or would you prefer to decide for yourself? I'm sure you can see the difference. Because that's the only thing you can do for a living, right? Or do you still dream to become a pianist?"

"I don't play anymore," uttered Nicol, asking himself why that man kept posing him the most embarrassing and cruel questions. But Miguel had always been rude and arrogant even when they both served in ZAFT.

He waved his right hand in front of Nicol, as to neutralize what he had just said. "I'm sorry for that, you were really good. Anyway, you'll agree with me that any solution is better than being with those bastards. You are a smart boy, Nicol, so I'm sure you realize all of you are their favorite tools now, but it's unlikely that in the future they won't decide to dispose of you, like they did with the Extendeds. Blue Cosmos has not forgotten you remain Coordinators, despite all the titanium you have beneath your synthetic skin. And let's not forget that, although indirectly, they are using your abilities against your own kin."

"I know. But there's nothing we can do." Nicol lowered his eyes, humiliated. He was aware that was the truth. Yet, it was too shameful to confess to Miguel—who looked so proud—they feared Logos more than they hated them. Traumatized by their past, the Coordinators in Nassau just did not want to die.

"That's why you look so deranged? I'm not asking for an answer now, but I want you to speak to your friends. To make them understand we are offering you the freedom. If there is a way to defuse those things on your body we'll find it."

"The nanocapsules are impossible to remove."

"It'll be sufficient they won't explode when Logos wants them too."

More and more unsure, Nicol tilted his head to one side. "Do you trust me so much? I could report this conversation to my bosses."

"And I could reveal your identity. You can deny as much as you want, but I assure you I can prove it."

Nicol and Miguel stared at each other, then a wry smile crept across the green-haired youth's face. "You just want us for those abilities you mentioned. We'd be an important asset for Serpent Tail."

"Yes, but it's not just for the money, Nicol." Miguel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and looking suddenly serious. "Do you remember why you joined ZAFT? For which reason did you die? To protect the PLANTs. Like me. Like all of your other companions in Nassau. Sooner or later this war will end, but this damn planet will always hide enemies of our country, vindictive enough to start the conflict anew. Again and again. We cannot go home anymore, but this doesn't mean we cannot help our people."

In that moment Nicol found himself unable to decide whether his old tutor was joking or not. "Miguel, why do you say you can't return home?" he suspiciously asked.

At that question, the blond young man sighed and let his hands drop, relaxing further into his seat. "Because I'm dead for my family, just like you. Mom and my bro would be horrified if they saw me like this. And then? What's the point to go back home, just to be sent to the frontlines again after few weeks off?" Miguel shook his head. "No. I prefer they remember me as I was, and my consolation is to work to make the PLANTs a safe place for them."

Nicol shifted his gaze out of the window. Now the plane was flying over a city, its thousand lights shining in the pure black of the ground. That was something impossible to see on PLANTs, where even during the nightshift a morbid grey light lined the buildings.  
His attention returned on Miguel, the thought of his lost home fading in the background of his mind. Did his tutor really tell the truth? Had Nicol something useful to offer for the PLANT's? Could he hope to escape the horror that had become his life?

"Do really believe everything you say?" he asked.

"Why not?" Miguel replied, running a hand through his golden bangs. "It's a pretty good reason that makes working for Serpent Tail much more attractive than serving as a regular soldier, obliged to follow orders. Although, well, of course I'm better paid here, and there are some _interesting_ benefits."

Miguel winked for what was probably the tenth time during that conversation, making quite clear what those bonuses were. The cocky bastard had not changed a bit, as his tutor had always adored three things in his existence: making fun of his subordinates—circumstances that drove Yzak crazy— making fun of his opponents, and chasing after pretty girls.

"You are a greedy bastard," Nicol ventured to exclaim, and Miguel glared at him.

"Hey, pay a little respect for those who are older and more experienced than you, ya know, kid?" Miguel glanced at the empty glass, annoyed. "You have painted all over your face you're not interested in money or anything else. Not at all unexpected from the prim and proper child of the higher-ups. But, if the freedom from Logos is not enough for you, rest assured we'd take your girlfriend with us too. Doctor Jesek will be a valuable acquisition for Serpent Tail."

The sudden change of subject caught Nicol totally unprepared. "Girlfriend?" he stammered, blushing furiously and noticing Miguel's grin.

"Come on, I know what is happening between you and Dr. Jesek! To think I believed you a girl the first time I saw you, with that voice too sharp and those languid eyes. A musician, nonetheless, who blushed whenever Athrun complimented you on something."

Miguel burst out laughing, and Nicol had to hold back the urge to rip his head off. "It's not what you think!" he hissed, feeling like an idiot, and, at the same time, hit by a piercing wave of nostalgia for his past and his old comrades. Nicol stood up, nervous enough to find it unbearable to spend more time closed on that plane with Miguel. To throw him out had never seemed so sweet.

_'Athrun...'_

After a moment he felt his former tutor's hand on his shoulder, and Nicol reacted by an instinct he was sure he had not possessed before the _incident_. Cecilia called it 'defence subroutine'.

With a single, fluid movement he turned, grabbed Miguel by the collar of his black dress and slammed him onto the floor. Before Nicol could even realize it, he was straddling Miguel, keeping him pinned with one hand and pointing with the other his tactical knife to his throat. At that point Miguel's smile was the only thing that prevented Nicol from taking his life, because, although tense, an ironic grin was still arching the blond man's lips.

"Wow, you are fast. And do you also purr like a cat?"

The blade caressed his skin, but Miguel remained unimpressed. He even managed to chuckle. "Tell me, Nicol. Did you get so nervous because I mentioned your pretty love story? You still look naïve, but I doubt you are if you had the nerve to screw the woman who grants you a perfect maintenance. Dr. Jesek might be awful looking but she's indeed a genius. And, considering your achievements in the past missions, you are one step ahead even of the rest of the Nexus. How many unauthorized improvements did Jesek perform on you?"

"It's none of your business."

"Probably, but you have not been careful enough. The institute sponsors know everything about your affaire, but they have chosen to turn a blind eye and see just how better than the rest of your companions you can become. Then they'll force Jesek to install the same things on them. Isn't it funny? You were their guinea-pig twice."

Too stunned to speak, Nicol froze, paralyzed by fear and guilt. Not for him, but for the woman he had grown to admire during all of those months spent together. Miguel's smile faded, replaced with a pitying expression.

"You haven't changed that much, Nicol, if you have that concerned look on your face," he said. "If you care for that woman as I believe, get her out of that place as soon as possible. The moment Logos decides the project is completed, they'll get rid of her to preserve the secrecy of their plans. Many civil scientists, no more necessary, had already disappeared from Nassau, and I assure you no one will ever see them again. You don't want the same for your girlfriend, am I right?"

No. He shook his head, sheathing his knife and helping Miguel to rise to his feet. He did not care for money, but to preserve his life and Cecilia's he was ready to sign a contract with the Devil himself.

"I'll think about your proposal," he declared, already planning what to reveal to his companions. Some of the most bloodthirsty ones, like Alpha and Lorran, would be excited to join Serpent Tail and being paid to do what they liked the most.

Miguel nodded, blazing a satisfied smile. Then he exploded in another laugh and, surprisingly, leaned forward to ruffle Nicol's hair.

"Good. You've always been the most level-headed kid of the pack. I count on you."

Was it because of the affectionate gesture, or because of the constant reminding of their old times together that Nicol suddenly felt moved? He made a step back, proudly turning towards the windows so that Miguel could not see the tears damping his feline eyes. Maybe everything was about to change. And, for disillusioned that Nicol had become, the sole thought ran a shiver of joy down his spine.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when the flyer and the jet carrying Miguel and Nicol reached the connection airport, a secret facility of Blue Cosmos in Colombia. From there, the Coordinators would be heading home in Nassau.

Miguel Ayman accompanied his former ZAFT companion out of the plane, giving him a comradely pat on the back that made Nicol smile. The blond man returned the gesture, pleased to notice that when Nicol smiled he reverted back to the gentle boy Miguel remembered. The vision, however, evaporated when Nicol slung the heavy assault rifle across his back, as if it was weightless. The serious green-haired youth gave him a sideways glance, as sharp as a razor blade, before descending the ladder and heading towards his comrade's flyer. Miguel heavily sighed, struggling to maintain his perpetual laidback appearance.

"Damn, those things are really terrifying," he muttered under his breath.

Miguel had never been particularly superstitious, but talking to Nicol he had had the distinct feeling his old comrade was subtly different from how he had remembered him. And it was not just for his look Miguel sensed that under Nicol's high-tech skin there was something missing, as if someone else had been brought back from death. Or if the easy-going, sunny part of his personality had remained entangled in the wreckage of the Blitz.

Miguel shivered, filled with a melancholy impossible to dissipate, and not able to tear his eyes away from Nicol's back. "What did they do to you, to reduce you like this?"

He was aware he had risked his life many times during that conversation, as if Nicol barely had control over his own feelings that, combined with the performance of his bionic implants, resulted in an explosive mix. And although his face always bore a dispassionate, dull look, a couple of times Nicol had seemed to show genuine emotions; when Miguel had mentioned Athrun and Cecilia Jesek. He had enough experience to see that Nicol deeply loved the woman, probably not even realizing it, but Athrun? Considering how tense Nicol looked every time Miguel mentioned the son of Patrick Zala something might have happened between them, but what?

Biting his lower lip Miguel returned inside the plane, sinking into his comfortable seat and ordering another gin tonic. He could not tell what kind of emotional response that name elicited in Nicol, though it did not seem a pleasant one.

'_Who cares?'_ he thought, watching the flight attendant carrying him his drink. _'Nicol's going to work with us, and it's totally unlikely he will ever meet Athrun again.'_

Forgetting that inexistent problem, Miguel concentrated on the next steps of the plan the Serpent Tail strategists had conjured to free the Coordinators in Nassau. He was involved too, and it would have been funny, just like the old times.

* * *

**Notes: this time not only I have to thank ****Strata-Assassin for the impeccable betareading, but also for the comments ^^ The cookie factory is not enough anymore!  
Many thanks go also to the ****reviewers and ****readers, I'm really flattered by your response! **


	7. Choices

**Betareading by Strata-Assassin  
**

**Choices**

**_Aprilius City, December 14, C.E. 81_**

Riko was nervous. He had volunteered for that mission, the first of their group on the PLANTs —_at home_, a little voice inside him continued to scream— confident of their abilities to avoid unnecessary damage to themselves, but somehow he had expected things not to go as planned. Staring at his smartphone, at the red light that was flashing next to the name of one of his two companions, Riko could not help but wondering if that was a sort of divine retribution for daring to shed the blood of other Coordinators.

"... fuck," he muttered, raising from the bed to try to fix, for the umpteenth time, the air conditioning. Riko fumbled with the controls for a few minutes before declaring defeat. To add misery to that damn mission, the apartment rented for them was hot and humid, a situation that was driving the young Coordinator insane. Unsure of what to do, Riko exhaled a deep sigh of relief when he heard the door opening. He greeted his companion with a hard look. "We messed up big time. Police and soldiers are everywhere."

"I know. But the target is dead," was the laconic reply of the other mercenary before to head straight for the bathroom.

Riko rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Nicol was a nice person, but since they had landed at Aprilius One he was strangely quiet, and Riko imagined it was not only because of the nature of the mission. From what little he had managed to discover through the years about the green-haired youth, it appeared the PLANT was his home when he served in ZAFT.

Riko followed Nicol, and poked his head around the bathroom's door. "Hey, have you checked your smartphone? We have a probl... "The words died his throat.

Nicol was in front of the sink. Jacket and t-shirt piled up on the floor, he was staring at his left arm, covered in blood from the forearm to the wrist. A bad wound decorated his skin just above the elbow.

"And that?" Riko almost screamed.

"A mere scratch. But unfortunately an inch above the joint of the implant."

"Did you leave any evidence around?"

Nicol had no need to reply, as the frown appeared on his face spoke volumes. Riko leaned against the doorpost in despair; things were worst than he had expected.

"_This_ is not good," he commented, but Nicol only shook his shoulders.

"Forget it. This is not our main problem."

"How can you say that?" Riko nervously reacted. "Do you still remember our rules of engagement? Keep the secrecy of the mission, do not expose unless absolutely necessary, never reveal our identity—"

"… and never leave anyone behind," Nicol ended, finally taking off his black goggles and staring at Riko.

Instinctively, the Coordinator lowered his eyes. Riko knew those optical systems were extremely useful in battle, but he felt lucky he did not have them installed. He had no idea how all of those who had them could bear their own reflection in the mirror. "Do you mean Lex?" Riko asked, trying to mask the discomfort.

"Of course. The nanocapsules automatically detonate twenty minutes after the brain's electrical activity ceases, or we can activate them by ourselves. Lex is still alive, as the electronic signal indicates, but this means he's so injured he cannot escape nor trigger the explosion." Nicol shook his head. "I don't get how they could have captured him, but we cannot leave this PLANT without him."

Nicol had a point, but Riko felt a cold shiver running down his back. There were too few of them for a rescue operation. "The point indicated by the GPS is a military hospital," he commented. "The surveillance will be extreme. It would be difficult to get in there."

"I know, but we can't leave him," Nicol repeated, looking away and nervously clutching a bottle of disinfectant. He opened it, pouring a generous dose of liquid on the scratch.

Riko stared at his companion without offering any help, his thoughts lost in what Nicol was convinced to do. He knew the green-haired youth was right and they could not leave Lex in ZAFT's hands, but he asked himself what would have been the cost for them to attempt such a rescue. Riko clenched his fists. "Do you realize it's madness?"

"Yes, but we are trained for this. It's not the first mission where things didn't go as planned," Nicol said while applying an adhesive gauze over his wound. "And don't be that worried. You have just to cover my back; it's up to me to get Lex out of there."

"Forget it. You're hurt." It cost Riko to say that, as he was not eager to get into trouble but Nicol had been unusually tense from the start, and he did not want the situation to worsen.

Much to his discomfort, his companion shook his head. "No, I am in charge of this mission and, I told you, this is just a scratch."

"It is not necessary."

The reply was sharp. "Yes, it is. Because I have the responsibility to bring all of you back home, in any way. Also, I know this place better than you.

Riko exhaled deeply, deciding not to insist any further. What awaited Nicol would have not been a pleasant job, and Riko was known to be among the less altruistic of their group. "You are right on that," he said, convincing himself that even this time they would survived the impossible. "So, what is the plan?"

"We need a diversion. I'm sure they think Lacus Clyne was our target, we'll let them continue to believe it."

"It seems perfect to me. I'll check the situation with the police," Riko said, nodding. "The codes we've got to hack their computer systems work perfectly, I never thought it would have been so easy."

"It's understandable, we've always felt safe here... well... ZAFT, I mean," Nicol corrected himself, glancing at the mirror.

Riko sighed. That slip revealed just how vast his companion's discomfort was, and he was feeling the same. To be there, _at home_ —he finally admitted— was more difficult than he had expected. "Give me a shout if you need help with that wound," he told Nicol, turning to leave and giving him a last glance. "And try not to destroy the sink, even here we should not leave traces."

* * *

Nicol silently groaned, then relaxed the left hand that was convulsively clutching the edge of the sink. Fragments of plastic-ceramic remained glued to his fingers, and he wasted a moment to look at them, lost in his thoughts. They were not much darker than his immaculate synthetic skin.

Nicol frowned. How was it possible that among all the people who lived in Aprilius City he had had to meet Athrun Zala?

As always, the strategists of their group had planned the attack down to the most insignificant detail. So he was conscious their target would have been accompanied by Lacus Clyne, and Nicol had reasonably expected the presence of Yzak Joule. But not Athrun.

"Shouldn't he have been in Orb?" he wondered, washing away the blood on his arm. Nicol's eyes ran to the wound. It was worse than he had pretended with Riko, so he swallowed two doses of painkillers. Probably one would have been sufficient, but if there was a thing he never wanted to experience again in his life was the physical suffering.

Then Nicol's attention returned to the mirror, where he crossed the look of his unnatural eyes. The former pianist had seen the shock on Athrun's face when he had pinned his old friend against the column, and he could not blame him. Nicol himself had wanted to tear those optical systems away the first time he saw them on his face.

"Athrun..." Nicol whispered, cursing his bad luck. He had never wanted to meet again any of his old companions. If he had been given a choice he would never returned to Aprilius One, but in their group Nicol was the only one who had grown up there and no one else could have taken his place. Nor Nicol would have wanted someone to. It made no sense for him to risk the lives of his comrades on a mission where he would have been the most suitable agent.

_'Yes, so fit for this operation to injure Lacus Clyne in the process and to lose one of us.' _

Nicol shook his head, trying to focus on his real problem: how to save Lex.

'_Those I met this afternoon were not my friends,'_ he said to himself. _'They were part of the life of someone who died ten years ago in the cockpit of the Blitz. It's pointless to waste time thinking about Athrun and Yzak. It's Lex who needs my help.' _

Without really intending to, Nicol found himself staring at the crimson drops of blood decorating the surface of the sink. For years he had tried to convince himself he was _not_ Councillor Amalfi's son, not revealing to anyone, not even to Cecilia, who he had been before. Only Miguel knew the truth, but he had kept that secret well. Even if the psychologists had warned Nicol of the futility of denying the truth, and almost every night he dreamed about his previous life, during the day it was easy to lie to himself and to everyone. After all, no one in their group was curious about the past of their companions.

"That guy was not me," Nicol reminded himself with an almost religious fervour, knowing he was only losing precious time.

He projected on his retina a map of the place where Lex was detained. Nicol would have rescued him at all costs, without any distraction. Or hesitation.

Somewhat pleased with his newly found confidence, he retrieved the two guns he kept in his jacket. Because he had learned that shooting was just like playing piano: with two hands it was definitely better. Then Nicol left the bathroom, trying to figure out what he would have done in case Athrun Zala had crossed his path again. The first time he had been too shocked to react, but that was not going to happen again.

_'I don't even know __who he is,' _Nicol grimly assumed.

* * *

The driver of the van that was taking them to the military hospital had been ordered to disregard the traffic, and he was scrupulously complying. Despite the seatbelt, Athrun had to cling to a handle not to bang into Yzak, who sat beside him, his blue eyes fixed on the road and lost in deep thoughts.

The Orb Admiral sighed, casting a glance behind him. The group of ten soldiers of the security forces Yzak had brought with them was busy settling the equipments, making sure the automatic weapons they had functioned properly. "Isn't it a bit too much, Yzak? Those are just two..."

The comment earned him an angry look from Yzak. "_Maybe_. We cannot exclude there are other terrorists out there. You saw what they can do, right? We must be very careful."

Athrun knew his companion was right, but those words disturbed him anyway. Carefully considering how to approach the problem, he lowered his voice. "Will you really give that order? To shoot to Nicol?"

Yzak's reaction did not surprise him. The silver-haired youth looked away, slamming a fist against the car's door. "YES!" he shouted. "Did you hear Shiho? Those guys are dangerous, whoever they are, and I can't risk the lives of my men for the sake of someone who, perhaps, doesn't even exist anymore."

"Let's not disregard all the hypotheses," Athrun hastily commented. "They might have been forced to do that, to work for Logos or Serpent Tail. They could have been brainwashed."

"They could, yes, but we already know those techniques don't really work with us."

"But..." Athrun, scared and worried, placed a hand on Yzak's shoulder, but his friend brushed it away, staring at Athrun.

"Stop doing that, Zala," he hissed. Then, under Athrun's astonished look, the brash son of Ezelia Joule looked away, gazing at the road behind the driver's shoulders as if he could no longer bear Athrun's presence, who stood silent, waiting for his friend to regain his composure. Yzak's lips had a bitter twist when he spoke again, and his voice was low and tormented. "Do you think I don't care about him? That I don't understand how you feel? You know, sorry if I didn't cry like a baby when Nicol died in front of us, as you did. And sorry if the sorrow of his death did not turn me into a vengeful lunatic, as it happened to you."

Athrun, despite these words, did not feel offended, but just terribly sorry for Yzak. He knew he was hearing something his friend probably had hid in his heart for years.

The silver-haired youth gently shook his head, the hands tightly clasped in his leap. "Back then everyone thought I was a heartless bastard, am I right? That I could not care less for the loss of the one I'd called several times 'coward', even in his face. I'm sure they were convinced I was secretly happy, because our group had got ridden of an incompetent."

"Yza—" Athrun whispered, but his friend stopped him raising a hand.

"Let me finish. I know it does not apply to you and Dearka, but many others thought that behind my back. I'm aware of it. And do you know what irritates me the most? That I hated so much the idea that someone could judge me a weak rookie, that I did nothing to dismiss those rumors. _Nothing_." Yzak eyes narrowed, and Athrun was suddenly sure that if his friend had the chance to turn back time he would have slapped silly his younger self. Then, Yzak's features suddenly relaxed in a pale grin. "I admired Nicol," he admitted, exhaling deeply as if a great weight had been suddenly lifted off his shoulders. "That... _child_ that even without a proper weapon saved you from certain death, paying the highest price while me and Dearka were watching the show from a safe distance." Yzak glanced at Athrun. "Nicol's behavior aboard the _Vesalius_ unnerved me, because I hated his perpetually cheerful and optimistic air, as if we were playing and not fighting. And I envied him, okay? Because at barely fifteen Nicol was already piloting the most powerful war machine ever built, and he did his best to use it despite having only minimal experience in battle. He was always the first to obey orders and, indeed, also providing very accurate tactical considerations." The tone of Yzak became surly. "I did not understand what the hell he was doing among us, when he should have been at home, strumming his damn piano. I went as far as asking Commander Le Creuset why Nicol was part of our team."

Athrun blinked, surprised by his friend's revelation. He had often asked himself the same question, knowing that Le Creuset considered Nicol too soft for his tastes. "And what did he answer?"

Yzak's fingertips rubbed his eyes, and he took a deep breath, looking exhausted to Athrun. "Le Creuset revealed me there was always a reason why he picked up his men. He said that Nicol was too young to be cynical and ruthless, but that the war would certainly have turned him into an outstanding soldier. Because he was younger than all of us, yet he was not less competent than me and for sure more determined than you. Nicol could look meek, but he was _motivated_ to fight."

"I know. I asked him why he enlisted in ZAFT, and Nicol told me he wanted only to protect the PLANTs."

Yzak nodded. "Exactly. He had a strong resolve to fight for the greater good, Athrun. And, because of this, Le Creuset believed that deep inside Nicol felt no remorse at all for his victims, even if he would have never admitted it. Nicol thought we were _justified_, that's why after every battle, at peace with himself, he could so cheerfully close up in his room to compose music."

Shock descended over Athrun like an icy shroud. He had never considered Nicol's behavior under that aspect. "No, I don't believe this," he tried to argue. "He was always so gentle…"

"With _you_, Athrun. And his family," Yzak roared, leaning towards his friend. "But Nicol wasn't gentle with me or Dearka, and for sure he had not been kind with the military at Artemis. Sure, he didn't want to die senselessly, and he tried to cause only the necessary damage, but this doesn't mean Nicol wasn't willing to kill to protect the PLANTs. But back then we were too young and foolish to realize it. We all remember his innocent smile, but none of us —save Le Creuset— had dared to look beyond it."

Athrun bit his lower lip, eyebrows furrowed into a deep scowl. Had he idealized Nicol over the years? Athrun tried to recall the conversations they had had and, despite some generic comment about the cruelty of war and the civilian losses at Heliopolis, he could not remember a single time when his friend had looked less than motivated about what they were doing. Despite being a front-line soldier, Nicol's lips were always bent into that gentle and loving smile Yzak had mentioned. Even after the most gruesome battle. _Always_, Athrun realized, feeling his fingers numb. "And what has this to do with our problem?" he articulated, trying to appear less worried than he really was.

Yzak's eyes rested on Athrun, calm but serious. "That we don't know what Nicol is fighting for now. But he could have become the kind of man Le Creuset anticipated: cynical, ruthless _and_ motivated. Keep in mind what Shiho said. You believe you are solely responsible for Nicol's _death_. He could think the same of you."

Athrun could not help but nod. He spent the following minutes trying to think about what he could say to Nicol, his thoughts errantly returning to the moments they had spent together. Then Athrun closed his eyes, knowing he was not ready to meet the friend he had believed deceased for years. His only consolation was to think that for Nicol it could be exactly the same.

* * *

**_Nassau, November 30, C.E. 73_**

Closed in her apartment, nestled on the couch with a laptop on her legs, Cecilia tried to work, unable to sleep even if it was already two in the morning. After a while, aware her eyes were constantly slipping away from the screen, the young woman threw the computer at the far end of the comfortable sofa.

Cecilia sighed, hugging her legs tightly to her chest as she used to when she was a child. "I'm not going to cry…" she repeated softly, unable to do anything else but to curse her unfortunate fate.

In the end, what she had feared the most had come true: a month before Lenk Granato, her boss, the man Cecilia considered like a father, had been replaced by someone more loyal to Logos. Cecilia and the remaining members of the old staff had complained, threatened to strike and boycott the experiments and, in retaliation, Lord Djibril himself had given the order to deport all of them. All but Cecilia, as she was too important to the project. She was left alone, and it seemed cruelly ironic to the scientist that her abilities and scientific discoveries, the pride and joy of her life, had become the chains that held her to a place that was no longer a home but a prison.  
She missed her co-workers. She missed Lenk. And, above all, she missed Nicol.

Since someone else was in charge of the video surveillance system, Cecilia did not trust anything, even to talk to Nicol and, if they did, it was only for issues strictly related to work. Of course, meeting him for something more than a casual chat was totally out of question.

Thinking about what she had lost, Cecilia gave an annoyed moan, sinking her teeth in her lower lip. Only occasionally, and always if there were others in the laboratory, she dared to give Nicol a caress, masking it with a motherly smile, but the gesture left her even more unsatisfied. On the other hand, it seemed to Cecilia that Nicol looked for any excuse to stay away from her, causing all the doubts she had harbored about their relationship to resurface. _'Maybe he was just tired of our affaire. Of this unfriendly and ugly old girl. He's a Coordinator after all, and perhaps he's come to think that Lorran is a better choice than me.' _The thought of the only girl of the group of captured Coordinators stirred a painful ache of jealousy deep inside her chest, and Cecilia's lips twisted in a sad grin.

She had wonderful relations with almost all of the Coordinators, save for Lorran and a few others. Cecilia had remade her mangled body into that of a stunning deadly goddess, yet the girl seemed to loathe her, and Cecilia had never been able to have a civil conversation with the redhead. However, the scientist did not hate Lorran, she had just found her behavior odd, but now that the girl had started to follow Nicol around as a shadow, Cecilia's indifference had turned into a cold aversion.

_'They are hiding something to me…'_ Cecilia whispered to herself, feeling the tears damping her eyes. She rubbed them with the back of her hand. _'But maybe it's better this way. Better that our lives have parted now, before being forced to see him returning from a mission in a way for me impossible to fix. Before being like his mother, his father, brothers or sisters, if Nicol has ever had any, who were waiting for him at home and instead received only the note he was 'missing in action'. Yes, maybe this is the result more convenient for both of us. Our relationship was wrong from the start anyway…'_

Cecilia grabbed a packet of tissues, deciding it was definitely the case of weeping once and for all. Then she would return to her job, never letting the sirens of love distract her. _'It was nice, but it's not for me, it's so… time consuming!_' Blowing her nose, the scientist slid off the couch, deciding that perhaps an herbal tea would help her to calm down when, suddenly, the stillness of the night was demolished by a powerful explosion.

The lights went out in the apartment and, instinctively, Cecilia's eyes ran to the windows. Her apartment, like those of the rest of the staff, was located inside the complex of the scientific institute, built like a university campus. The silhouette of the buildings at the other end of the compound stood out against the flames of a huge fire that had broken out, or so it seemed to her from that perspective, right next to the main entrance. Only the power station was of importance over there.

Cecilia did not lose time, knowing that if an accident had occurred there, the blackout would have lasted for hours. The light of the laptop screen led her to the table, where she had left the magnetic card to access her laboratory. The scientist grabbed it, put on her shoes and retrieved her precious laptop. _'In the scientific sector the autonomous generator should have already restored the power, but I have to make sure my computers have not been damaged.'_

She was almost by the door when gunfire added its brisk clamor to the roar of the fire and the shrill shouts of the alarms. "What's going on?" she murmured, frozen on the spot. Her attention returned to the windows.

There were shapes running in the central court, shadows that were firing at other shadows, impossible to recognize in the reddish light that blanketed everything. Cecilia immediately connected the explosion to the shooting. _'We are under attack,'_ she thought, widening her eyes.

Being a prime target, all the staff at the centre was aware of the evacuation procedures, that Cecilia silently started to recite. _'Take the emergency flashlight by the door and proceed to the designated shelter.' _The scientist made a step back but then glanced again at the windows, and found herself unable to move, because on top of buildings the real protagonist of the show was debuting.

The unknown mobile suit descended from the sky, impressive in its black and gold livery that Cecilia could not recognize as belonging to the Atlantic Federation. As far as she could tell it not even seemed a ZAFT unit. Despite looking bulky, it easily evaded a volley of missiles launched by the couple of Strike Daggers guarding the complex. The two mobile suites hurled themselves against the target drawing their own beamsabers but, just before they could reach it, the black mobile suit literally disappeared from view.

Cecilia had not even the time to grasp what was happening that the Daggers exploded in a fiery ball of fire, hit by something the pilots had not been able to trace. Only then their assailant reappeared, gracefully landing in the court amidst the wreckages of its victims.

Too stunned to react Cecilia made another step back. She knew they had lost their primary defense system, and there was little the guards could do against an enemy so motivated to deploy a top notch model of mobile suit. Unable to decide what to do, the scientist was still pinned in place when the door of her apartment slammed open.

Startled, Cecilia barely choked a shout, then she faced the door, clutching her laptop like it was a life vest. Her eyes took some seconds to adjust to the dim, reddish emergency light that filtered from the threshold and lined the silhouettes of two people. The least she expected to see there, as one was Lorran, and her companion no other that Nicol. They were both armed with sub-machine guns, however Lorran was not watching Cecilia, apparently preferring the show behind the scientist's shoulders.

The redhead whistled in approval. "Wow. So I see Miguel Aiman has not lost his touch. Of course, with that Mirage Colloid system anyone could win."

Cecilia had not understood a word, her attention totally captured by her —probably— former lover. She could not take her eyes away from Nicol who, in turn, was staring at her. "What is happening?" she asked.

It was Lorran who replied. "We're leaving, and you are coming with us."

"You cannot... you..."

"Be quiet. The guys of Serpent Tail disabled our nanocapsules, we are no longer Logos's slaves. As I said, we're leaving with them, and your presence is requested. Come on," the redhead said in her low, husky tone.

Nervously, Cecilia shook her head. That group of deadly mercenaries were famous for being greedy bastards and, she believed, nothing good could ever come from that.

Sensing her hesitation, Lorran bended her lips in a sweet yet menacing smile. "That was an order, doctor Jesek," she said, pointing her gun at Cecilia's head.

The scientist froze as Nicol grabbed Lorran's wrist. "What are you doing? Can't you see Cecilia is just scared?" he said her, leaving the girl unimpressed.

The redhead shook her shoulders. "Your girlfriend here is not convinced, perhaps her ties with Logos run much deeper than we had thought."

Lorran was like Nicol, a Nexus, the pinnacle of her precious project and, as she cast Cecilia a hard look, the scientist saw in those feline eyes the promise of her death. "She's always been nice to us, but don't forget she belongs to the Atlantic Federation. She's a Natural."

Lorran has hissed that last world like if it was a curse, and only in that moment Cecilia realized just how much the Coordinators she had considered her friends hated those like her. A familiar knot of disappointment and rejection plunged into her belly like a concrete brick and Cecilia lowered her head, feeling like if she was twelve again, alone and abandoned.

"The Serpent Tail guys are clear," Lorran was still saying. "She must come with us at all costs, but we cannot wait forever. Soon the guards will be here, she'll follow us, or I'll place a bullet into that thick skull she has!"

Pretending not to hear Lorran, Cecilia held her gaze firmly on the ecru carpet of her apartment, and the scientist did not shrug, nor make a move, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Slowly she raised her head, crossing the eyes of Nicol. His facial nervous system was still not healed enough to allow nothing more than an insubstantial concerned expression, but his troubled tone spoke volume.

"Come with us. You have nothing to do with Logos."

The words escaped Cecilia's lips before she could stop them "But I'm a Natural. Just like them."

"I know. And I never cared. But we'll talk about this later, we need to get out of here as soon as possible."

Incoherently, Cecilia shook her head, still not knowing why she was hesitating. Despite everything, that place had become a prison for her, and she knew only few of the Coordinators shared Lorran's racist hate towards her. Cecilia studied for a moment Nicol's impenetrable face, indulging in the warm sensation that his hand, still on her shoulder, was spreading inside here. She had sorely missed him and she did not want to be a slave anymore. Cecilia nodded. "I'll come with you," she murmured, feeling somewhat defeated. The scientist was aware she was behaving like a spoiled child, but she believed she had some mitigating circumstances, including a submachine gun pointed at her head.

Nicol and Lorran did not lose time; they were soldiers after all. The green-haired youth gently took Cecilia by her elbow, guiding her towards the door. They hurried down the corridor, with the scientist trying to do her best to keep up with two Coordinators. Around them reverberated gunshots and ricocheting bullets.

"Hey, Romeo, perhaps it's better if you carry your Juliet on your shoulder," Lorran cried, casting a quick disdainful glance behind her.

Not wanting to give the redhead the satisfaction to see her moved around like a mailbag, Cecilia increased her pace, secretly content for what Lorran had implied.

"So was it _this_, what you were hiding me?" she asked Nicol. Cecilia's heart had a spasm of joy when she saw him nod.

"Sure. We couldn't risk to have you involved too soon." He lowered his voice, looking at Cecilia with that gentle smile that made her feel special. "Forget what Lorran said, you are of the utmost importance for Serpent Tail, and they know your loyalty doesn't side with Logos. She'd have never shot you because from the start it was decided you had to join Serpent Tail with us. We are well aware our life depends on you." The pressure of his bionic fingers on Cecilia's elbow slightly intensified. "I couldn't find a way to explain you without being noticed. I'm sorry."

Cecilia had no time to reply as they turned around the corner and moved into the main corridor. A door stood at the end of it, guarded by two man in dark business suits. Both were armed, and one was shouting something in a cell phone. Lorran reacted before they could even raise their guns. She hit both in their chest and stomach, and the two crumbled on the floor as broken dolls.

Passing by the two bodies the scientist tried not to watch them, fearing they could belong to someone she knew. But she could not tear her eyes away from Lorran who, almost casually, pointed the weapon at the head of one of the two and fired.

The shock made Cecilia stumble. As her legs felt like lead and refused to make another step, she had the insane desire to slap Lorran. "Why?"

The redhead simply shrugged. "They were the watchdogs of Logos, and a dead enemy is one who cannot kill _you_ anymore. Come on, Nicol, finish off the other."

Cecilia's heart raced faster as she looked at Nicol, who was staring at the second guard. The scientist did the same. As she had feared, the man was not unknown to her. And he was not even one of the worst agents of Logos there. He was still alive, lying in a pool of his own blood that profusely poured from a nasty wound to the stomach; nothing fatal if treated in time.

Nicol raised his machine-gun but, before he could fired, Cecilia's hand closed around his forearm.

She was aware of the futility of the gesture, even of her hypocrisy. It was her who had made the former pilot _what_ he was, a perfect war doll, yet Cecilia did not want to see Nicol committing such a monstrosity in front of her. Franticly, the scientist babbled the only reasonable justification she could find. "You don't have to do that. Now you can freely chose if killing or not. Let's go."

They exchanged a glance, then Nicol gave her a pale smile. "Yes. Let's go."

Cecilia was so relieved she pretended not to hear Lorran's complaining.

"I can't stand you when you do that," the redhead hissed.

A sarcastic reply surged on Cecilia's lips but she choked it, making a mental note to set matters straight with the redhead as soon as possible. Even if now Cecilia was _almost_ sure Lorran had not stolen her boyfriend, she was sick of her sarcastic temper. Although that was not the time nor the place to discuss with Lorran; they had already lost too much precious time.

Cecilia saw Nicol kick the security door. As the lock yielded with a sharp click, the double shutters opened. The acrid smell of burnt plastic and chemical materials filled Cecilia's nostrils and she felt Lorran's hand on her wrist, almost propelling her outside. Instinctively, the scientist tried to resist, and she opened her mouth to protest, but the words remained forever stuck on her throat.

The sound of the shot hit her ears almost in the exact same moment where an unimaginable pain exploded in her left arm and back. Cecilia fell to the floor, and remained there feeling the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. Her eyelids closed as muffle sounds, that seemed like the screams of someone and a second hail of bullets, reached her ears.

Someone was trying to lift her up, but Cecilia silently screamed that she wanted to stay where she was, that it was less painful that way. And then she was sure doctors would have arrived soon. All things considered that place was full of surgeons.

Lorran's voice penetrated like a sharp knife in her obtunded senses, harsh but somewhat bitter. "Shit! Nicol, the next time you spare someone I swear I'll break your neck! That bastard shot her, _such_ gratitude for not having blown his head off. You should have killed him immediately!"

Incoherently, Cecilia's last thought before blacking out was how it sucked hard to have to agree with that bitch of Lorran.

* * *

Nicol stayed by Cecilia until the medical staff had brought her aboard the helicopter and transported the scientist away from the complex. Her condition had stabilized but she was still in danger. His eyes followed the helicopter until it disappeared, feeling powerless and angry with himself.

Passing the back of his hand over his eyes, Nicol turned around, hearing the voice of Miguel Aiman. He was walking towards him, accompanied by Lorran and another of the Coordinators in Nassau, a giant light blue-haired youth called Alpha. Lorran had a strange, contrite look on her face, while Alpha was openly growling. He hastily approached Nicol, who prepared himself by not making a step back.

The companion stopped few inches away from Nicol, towering over him from his almost seven feet of height. Alpha pointed on his face the menacing look of his feline eyes; like Nicol and Lorran, he was a Nexus too. He sneered, tightening the large fists. "You almost _did _kill Mommy."

Nicol cringed inside at the way Alpha used to call Cecilia. He suspected the giant had some kind of mental deficiency, but he had never had the curiosity to investigate further.

"I know," he partially admitted, worried that Alpha's rage could explode anytime. Not that Nicol feared him, but they had no time to waste in futile fights. "The situation was… complicated, though."

"Bullshit!"

"Stop!" Lorran cried, slipping between them and shoving Alpha away. The redhead faced him. "Forget it. She will be ok, and we are free, this is the most important thing."

"She's right." Miguel's voice fell on them, and Nicol's attention shifted to him, who seemed relaxed and amused while watching their quarrel. "We have to evacuate the area before the Federation sends reinforcements. Venezuela is our destination, where some of you will leave tomorrow for your first mission for Serpent Tail," he said.

Lorran looked bewildered. Hands on her hips she pouted, thrusting out her lower lip. "Aww, can't we just have a short holiday?"

"We can't afford it now. We have to make sure no information on you and the project will slip out, it would be too dangerous." Miguel raised up the tablet computer he was holding. "Here you'll find the data about all of those involved in the project. Politicians, military, employees and members of the administrative board of Anaheim Electronics, the company that built your implants. They must be all liquidated. It's the only way to keep your existence a secret."

Nicol felt the blood drain from his face. Before his two companions could do something, he rushed to Miguel and snatched the tablet from his hand. He slid the pages of the document. There were dozens of names, from the CEO of Anaheim Electronics, in Augusta, to some obscure staff member of the Department of Defense.

"We are lucky," Miguel added. "Considering the importance of this project not many people were involved, and most of all are bigwigs in the government and military." A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "The Atlantic Federation is already loosing the war with the PLANTs and there is a lot of confusion in Washington. They will think someone is squaring his account with Logos members, and it's not at all untrue."

"You must be joking," it was Nicol's only feeble comment. Few seconds later he felt Miguel's hand on his shoulder.

"No. It's _necessary_, Nicol. These are the people who ordered you to be turned into killing machines ―quite literally. These are the people who hate Coordinators so much to use _you_ against your own kin. You still remember Junius Seven, am I right? Well, some of these are the same people who ordered that. They are Blue Cosmos, our sworn enemies. If we let them live, they won't stop at nothing to get you back. The war is ending, and they are losing it, but you are still _their_ weapons."

Miguel was right, of course, still Nicol's conscience was telling him it was _wrong_.

"I want you to lead the operation," Miguel whispered to him, lowering his voice. "You are among the youngest of the group but you have the best preparation; I know at the ZAFT Academy you were not awarded with the Red Coat for your pretty face. And I don't trust some of your companions, they are not mentally stable enough. So, what do you think?"

Nicol did not answer, but continued to read the names on the tablet. It was heartbreaking. It was true some of the people listed there were Blue Cosmos members, but some were just innocent burocrates. Those people had families, what right had he to take away their loved ones? Angered with himself, Nicol raised his head. Behind Miguel's shoulders he could see his impressive Mobile Suit the blond had said a friend in Orb had loaned to him. Nicol did not know the model, but he could clearly see the right arm was none other than that of his former unit, the Blitz. That brought back memories.

Nicol turned towards Alpha and Lorran. The two were blankly staring at him with their unnatural eyes, clothes and hands stained with the blood of those they had killed. They did not even look like human beings, and Nicol knew he was no different. And, for that, he had to thank the people on that list. The thought of all he had suffered almost cut off his breath and Nicol was sure that not only would he have never forgiven the Atlantic Federation, but that he certainly did not want to die, nor to be their puppet again.

Once he had had his dear parents, his friends, his music, and all he wanted was to protect the PLANTs. Now he had only Cecilia, and his companions were his sole dysfunctional family. If he let those people live, like he did with the guard, they could hurt the people he cared for.  
Once the thought of committing a mass execution would have repelled him, but now Nicol rejected the idea of being merciful with a shrug.

_'I fight because it's the only way to protect ourselves. And to protect Cecilia. I have no choice but to fight.'_

Nicol's eyes returned on Miguel. "Consider it done," he conveyed without hesitation.

* * *

**Notes: once again, many thanks to my beta, Strata-Assassin, and to the readers and reviewers of this story!**

**Let me mention again that this fanfic is divided into two parts: one set in the past, during the wars of 71 and 73 CE, and the other ten years in the future. I know it can be rather confusing, so pay attention to the dates ;)**  
**About the canon, this is a "what if story", and while there are "only" a couple of divergences regarding SEED and SEED Destiny –notably, that Nicol and Miguel are still alive- I'm not following the canon of SEED Astray. I'm just stealing some concepts I found interesting for my story, like the existence of this mercenary organization, Serpent Tail, and the black and gold Mobile Suit Miguel pilots in this chapter: the Gold Frame Amatsu.**


	8. Deception

**Betareading by Strata-Assassin  
**

**Deception**

_**Aprilius City, December 15, C.E. 81**_

"I'm sorry the authorization is taking so long to be processed."

The military hospital receptionist smiled, while peering with understandable fear of the councilman, in the black uniform of the executive officers of ZAFT, who was waiting to get the green light to see the prisoner. The officer, who had introduced himself as a lawyer working for the Department of Military Justice Affairs of the Ministry of Defense, had presented impeccable credentials asking to be immediately admitted to his client's room and mentioning unspecified disciplinary actions. Everything exposed in a polite yet firm voice, accompanied by an icy gaze that had reduced the receptionist to stammering some lame excuses while entering his request into the system.

The girl pleadingly glanced at the terminal, hoping it spitted out the lawyer's authorization as soon as possible. If there was one thing that had the power to frighten her, it was dealing with the Justice Department.

Cursing her bad luck, the receptionist peered behind the man, wondering why that lawyer had to show up in the exact moment when Commander Joule –who had been around for most of the day– had had to leave for a recognition of the building. Even if he had ordered her not to let anyone pass, the girl knew he had no authority over those of the Justice Affairs, who were independent from the regular military hierarchy and directly subordinate of the PLANT Supreme Council.

Looking for support, she glanced at the group of soldiers Yzak Joule had left at the reception, but they seemed equally nervous. Their leader was trying to contact his silver-haired Commander without success. He mumbled something about 'wireless lines being down' which made the girl even more anxious. It was really true that, as her grandma said, disgraces never come alone.

"Do you think you can make it? I'm a rather busy person," the lawyer said, now looking slightly irritated.

She gripped the edge of her desk, not daring to stare at the man. His pale gray eyes were disturbing, and they gave her the distinct impression of being under the frigid look of a surveillance camera. For sure, the receptionist considered, he had chosen a profession that suited him well. She had to suppress a sigh of relief when the system allowed the requested authorization.

The girl printed it, unceremoniously placing the badge on the counter, only then raising her eyes on the lawyer. Much to her surprise, he was smiling.

"Thanks for everything, miss."

He saluted her, doing the same with the soldiers in charge of protecting the reception. "Thank you for your cooperation. When you succeed in contacting Commander Joule, tell him I'll meet him in my client's room."

The receptionist returned the salute, thinking that, all things considered, the lawyer could not be a bad person because he had a gentle smile, despite the stern look.

* * *

With the authorization in his hands, Nicol took the first elevator he could find for Lex's room. He and Riko had jammed the lines but it would have not taken much for Yzak to be aware something was wrong. His presence at the hospital made the situation a bit more complicated than it already was, not to mention having Athrun there too. If Yzak had dragged an Orb Admiral along with him, it could only be because they knew his identity.

Passing a hand through his short hair, Nicol relegated the thought to the back of his mind; he had no time to worry about meeting Athrun, no more than he had had driving to the hospital to admire the scenery of Aprilius, the town that ten years before he used to call 'home'. There were some new buildings, and an impressive monument dedicated to Lacus Clyne but, for the rest, everything had remained as it was. Nicol would have preferred otherwise, as it was too painful to recognize every corner of that city and associating memories he wished were not his.

When he arrived at Lex's room it was easy to be admitted, waving his badge at the officers, but a single glace at his companion's bed confirmed, again, how stupid it had been for them to accept that work. And how fervently he would have wished not to be there.

From the information and maps he and Riko had stolen from the Minister of Defense database, it had appeared it would have not been impossible to rescue Lex. The only dilemma was his condition which might be rather serious if, by himself, Lex had not been able to escape.

And one look at his friend was enough for Nicol to assess Lex was kept alive by the machines surrounding him, including a cardiopulmonary bypass pump that could not be disabled without killing him. With bated breath, Nicol read the data on the monitor. The cardiovascular and respiratory systems were compromised, the pressure dropping to the minimum acceptable for a man of Lex's size, and his pulse erratic. Lastly, his EEG was almost flat. There was a tablet computer beside the bed, and Nicol elevated it to examine the details of Lex's medical records. It was not a surprise to read his life expectancy was reduced to a few hours. And all for a stupid car accident, evidence of the fact that, despite their hi-tech implants, they were far from invulnerable.

Nicol's eyes scanned Lex's bionic arms, whose circuits laid bare by the removal of the synthetic skin. That was not a consequence of the incident, but the result of an investigation performed even before Lex was properly dead. The desolate vision made Nicol grip the tablet still in his hand so tightly he smashed it. He let it fall abandoned to the ground.

"Miguel had always been right," he murmured with a grimace of pain. "Even for ZAFT we are nothing more than guinea pigs." He was determined to spare Lex, a good friend and one of the most valiant soldiers he had ever met, that last insult.

Nicol looked for the last time at his companion's swollen face then, after having removed the alarms connected to the machines, he meticulously turned all of them off. So serious was Lex's condition that it took few seconds for the EEG to become completely flat. The nanocapsules of acid in his body were set to explode twenty minutes later but Nicol, holding back the tears, took out his smartphone and sent the detonation signal to the devices. Even if already dead, Lex did not deserve twenty minutes at the mercy of ZAFT's butchers.

* * *

Athrun was not used to seeing Yzak Joule really angry anymore. He pitied the poor receptionist who had just admitted she had allowed someone to see the prisoner.

Yzak was towering over her. The girl, who looked around twenty and was probably just graduated from the college, standing stiff and pale beside the counter as her commander glared.

"I don't care why you did that, just tell me how he looked," Yzak hissed, inches away from her face.

To her credit, the receptionist had the nerve to reply as a trained policewoman. "Young, with green hair, tall around 5.75 feet, dressed in the ZAFT black uniform." She raised a hand to her face, frowning. "There was something odd about his eyes―"

Yzak did not let her finish. He turned towards the group of soldiers, motioning toa couple of them. "You two, with me. The others patrol the elevators. Do not let anyone leave the building." Then he sprinted to the elevators, and Athrun had no choice but to follow him, glancing with apprehension at the assault rifles their escort was carrying.

When the group arrived at the floor they found the corridor deserted and, breathing in, Athrun could detect a small trace of burning in the air. That was_ not_ a good sign. In the last hours, screaming and treating the staff Yzak had obtained to have the floor reserved for the prisoner, so out of the elevators there were only the couple of soldiers Yzak had deployed there to guard the passage. They came to attention but their Commander passed them by with just a small nod.

The group increased the pace, and they were almost running when they arrived at their destination: the prisoner's room. There the stench was stronger, a disgusting mix of burning plastic and flesh. The door was closed, and a doctor was unsuccessfully trying to open it with a magnetic badge. Two soldiers were watching him, hands gripping tightly the holsters of their machine guns.

Athrun heard Yzak exhale a curse.

"Out of the way, you're losing time!" he shouted, swooping down on the group like a bird of prey. He pushed away the doctor then, raising his gun, Yzak blew up the electronic lock with a single shot. The door suddenly opened. Yzak propelled himself inside and Athrun followed him, keeping the sleeve of his jacket in front of his mouth. The room was empty, and wrapped in a thick blanket of smoke. Athrun's eyes turned to the bed, his heart stuck in his throat.

On the burned sheets laid the blackened, charred remains still retaining a vague human form. Nothing was left intact. Even the precious implants so delightful for Dr. Zimmer were now nothing more than oxidized skeletons that disintegrated into ashes under Athrun's eyes. The sprinkler system was operative, and the cloud of water mist was slowly reducing the miserable remains of the terrorist to a black muck.

As quickly as they entered, Yzak and Athrun left the room. There was nothing there to examine.

Stiff with anger, Yzak assailed one of the guards. "What happened?" he hissed on his face.

"We have no idea. A few minutes ago his lawyer left. He told us everything was alright," the soldier almost stammered, as nervous as the receptionist had been. It was not easy to face one of Commander Joule's famous rages.

"A young man with green hair, dressed in the black uniform?" Yzak demanded.

"Yes, sir."

"Where did he go?"

"To the elevators that go down to the underground parking lot."

Yzak glanced at Athrun; those elevators were in the opposite direction of those they had used, so they did not stumble into him. Again, the 'terrorist' seemed to perfectly know how to fool them.

That was probably why Yzak's new order was tainted with nervousness. He tapped his finger on the earpiece. "To all security squads," he commanded. "Stop the elevators and closely guard all exits, in particular those to the parking lot. Immediately report to me every problem. We are looking for a man around twenty-five, with green hair, 5.75 feet, in the ZAFT black uniform."

Then he motioned the two soldiers who accompanied him, throwing himself in pursuit of the mysterious lawyer. Athrun had no choice but to follow, more and more worried. Not for them, but for the man they were chasing. He knew he was Nicol. Reflexively, Athrun's hand rose from his side, only then remembering he had refused to carry a gun. As the burned corpse of Nicol's companion still lingered on his mind, for the first time Athrun wondered if it had been a good idea to be unarmed.

When they arrived in front of the elevators, they realized one had already reached the parking lot. The others were going off order, but it was too late.

"We take the stairs," Yzak hissed in frustration, probably conscious the security measures he was adopting were backfiring on him.

They rushed downstairs, Yzak ahead shouting orders on the earpiece and receiving reports on his smartphone that were not optimistic if the silver-haired Commander was becoming more and more nervous.

Pausing a few seconds, he glanced at Athrun. "I got a report from Dearka. His squad at Lacus' hospital is under fire. Heavy machine guns, apparently."

Surprised, Athrun narrowed his eyes. "Were we wrong?"

"No. It could be a diversion. But, at least, now we know they had no intention of freeing the captured terrorist."

Lost in their thoughts, both friends remained silent for the rest of the short descent, marked by the heavy steps of their escort. Athrun could not believe Nicol had killed his injured companion. That was something the pilot of the Blitz would have never done. Yet, it was another warning the young man they were chasing was_ not_ the Nicol he knew.

When they reached the parking lot, the guards they had expected to find there were not in sight. Surprised, they approached the elevators, weapons in hand. One of the cars was at the floor, the doors kept opened by the bodies of two men Athrun recognized as members of Yzak's group. Approaching, he noticed they were just unconscious, but their guns were missing.

"Too late," Yzak exhaled, almost growling, looking away from the elevator car and peering into the rows of vehicles in the parking lot. "And why were there only two soldiers?"

In that moment, the soft noise of something falling to the floor resounded behind them.

"Because you got fooled like a rookie, Yzak. What would Miguel think of you?"

Yzak loudly cursed, but Athrun's reaction was different. The Orb Admiral's eyes widened while he stood crystallized on the spot. The voice that had just spoken, although more masculine than he remembered, was undoubtedly Nicol's.

They turned toward the elevator.

The soldiers who had escorted them were crumbled on the floor, at the feet of a young man with green hair. He was pointing two large-calibre pistols at Yzak and Athrun's heads.

Now that Athrun could see him at a close distance, without the hood covering his face, the Orb Admiral could not deny he still retained a vague resemblance to the boy he knew. Only the look in his eyes was completely different; they were shiny, as if he had just cried, but determined and unnaturally fixed on them.

"Long time no see, Athrun," Nicol said in his typical delicate yet serious tone the blue-haired youth remembered so well.

Athrun did not dare to move a muscle.

* * *

_**San Diego, December 9, C.E. 81  
Four days before the attack on Aprilius One**_**  
**

For Miguel Aiman being in California was like returning home. Even if he was born on the PLANTs, his family had lived in that part of the Atlantic Federation for decades before they fled to space, and every time he was there he enjoyed driving along the coastal highway. The bandana and the black glasses Miguel wore in public to hide the scar on his forehead gave him the exotic look of a rockstar, and it was long since he had grown to appreciate the Natural girls. However, that time Miguel was in San Diego to help coordinate the attack on Aprilius One, and that work was gnawing away his time to have fun in downtown.

Walking down the corridors of the modern building where Serpent Tail had its offices, he glanced through the windows to admire the slices of clear December sky that poked among the skyscrapers. Miguel smiled, knowing how powerful the mercenary agency was, rich enough to have its North Atlantic headquarters in one of the most exclusive business districts of the world. Fully registered as a contractor company, Serpent Tail offered its wide ranges of _services_ to anyone who had the money to pay, acting openly, and the Atlantic Federation government was a regular, good customer.  
Because of their past, Miguel's group was rarely chosen to work for the Federation, but for that unique work the commissioners had asked for the best agents, and the former ZAFT pilot found it utterly ironic the Federation had to pay for something they had created in first place. However, Miguel had to make sure Nicol and the others he had selected did not damage the agency's reputation and relations with the Federation. And that they come back home to Earth.

Miguel arrived at the briefing room where he had arranged the meeting. Opening the door, he found Nicol already seated on the sofa with a laptop on his legs. The green-haired youth raised his eyes to greet him with a small smile. That day Nicol wore ice blue contacts; he possessed a collection of lenses of any color, except his original one. Miguel had often wondered if his friend was consciously avoiding to resemble too much to his old self, but did not dare to ask. Nicol had matured through the years, finding stability in his new life, yet there were matters he did absolutely refuse to discuss with anyone.

Taking a chair, Miguel sat down in front of him, looking around for something to drink. The vending machine in the opposite side of the room had only coffee, mineral water and a brand of orange juice he detested. Making a mental note to ask the office manager to refurnish the dispenser, he turned towards Nicol, who was still typing something on his laptop, his attention focused on the video.

The blond Coordinator studied his friend, perplexed about how to face the problem. He could act all sensible and supportive, or he could be a derisive ass. Crossing his arms in front of him, Miguel decided for the latter; Nicol could look timid, but insults and allusions had always had the power to bring out his inner harshness. Exactly what Miguel intended to achieve.

"Ready for the mission?" he asked.

"Sure. We'll leave tomorrow and in two days we'll be on Aprilius One. We'll still have one day left to prepare for the job."

Miguel nodded. "The audience of Alexander Borodin in front of the PLANT Supreme Council will be on the 14th; once there, you'll need to carefully plan the attack."

"I know, Miguel, this is not our first assignment, you know?" Nicol glanced at him, lips bent into a soft, derisive grin. "Are you worried for us?"

Miguel relaxed on the chair. It was a good thing Nicol had introduced the issue for him. He gingerly placed his hands behind his head, trying to appear unconcerned. "Actually, it's only for you that I'm worried."

Nicol's eyebrows slightly furrowed in a questioning scowl. After so many years from the incident, he still retained an evident lack of facial expressions but, for Miguel, who prized himself to knowing him perfectly, Nicol's features were like an open book.

"Why?" the green-haired youth asked, in an uncertain tone that contradicted his composure.

"Because that PLANT was your home. And because you're likely to meet Lacus Clyne and Yzak Joule there."

Nicol's reaction did not surprise Miguel. He lowered his eyes, closing the laptop and placing his hands on it. Miguel could not help but stare at them. Nicol had nice-looking bionic hands, with the long fingers of a pianist. But he did not play piano anymore. Those were the hands of a killer.

"I'm aware of this. But I don't care. Lacus was just a casual acquaintance, someone I knew because both of our parents were in the Council, and Yzak was a comrade when we both served in ZAFT. Nothing less, nothing more."

Miguel, who had not missed the disdain in his voice when Nicol had mentioned Yzak, licked his lips, preparing to flee. Through the years, the blond pilot had been very careful not to cross the line beyond that Nicol became _really_ dangerous, and the only time he had forgotten that golden rule Miguel had found himself hanging, upside down, from a sixty story building. He knew Nicol would not be pleased for what he was about to ask him.

"And Athrun? He's supposed to be in Orb, attending his wife and their two newly born daughters. But what if you meet him on Aprilius One too?"

This time, Nicol's eyes stared directly at Miguel. If a look could kill, the blond knew he would be dead on the spot.

"And so? Like Yzak, he was just another member of the Le Creuset Team."

"And a _very_ special companion to you. Can't you accept that after so many years?" Miguel exhaled, a well studied dramatic groan, and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "We've never talked about your relationship with Athrun, but I think I've come to understand why you always avoid the discussion. I've seen the wreckage of the Blitz and, considering Athrun came out unscathed, I suppose that day you did your best to protect him at _any_ costs. It's not surprising, considering how close you were back at the Academy and on the _Vesalius_."

Miguel studied Nicol's face, a beautiful mask of imperturbable calmness that concealed his thoughts and feelings. Those like him had been nicknamed 'war dolls', and it was a well-deserved description.

"I suppose you _know_ of his relations with Kira Yamato, your enemy that day," Miguel continued, placing the hands on his knees. "All things considered, even if you say you don't care, you still spend a great deal of your time collecting information on Athrun Zala on the official and unofficial networks. Sure, you waste a lot of energy worrying about things in which you have no control, and to track down someone who was _just_ another member of your team." Considering Nicol was still quiet, Miguel decided to push his luck a bit further. "Whoever you'll meet on Aprilius One, I urge you not to do anything funny. This mission is important for Serpent Tail but, more than this, it's crucial that you come back with your companions. Safe and sound."

Miguel rose from the chair, placing both hands on his hips. The fact that Nicol was still silent gave him confidence. "Come back," he repeated. "What would Cecilia say if she knew you abandoned her to run after your former boyfriend, Athrun 'pretty eyes' Zala?"

Only in that moment Nicol smiled. A happy, care-free smile. "Talk about Athrun with Cecilia," he said, sounding as innocent as a ten-year-old kid. "And I swear I'll use your head to play basketball."

Miguel froze. He had reached his goal, but it was definitely time to leave. However, walking to the door, he could not resist provoking Nicol with a final taunt. "Death threats do not suit you, ya know? Better if you prepare for the mission, than losing time stalking Athrun on the social networks."

The blond fled, and he had just the time to close the door behind him before he heard the crash of Nicol's laptop against it. Miguel sighed, complimenting himself for still being alive while walking down the corridor to his new destination. That conversation with Nicol had given him another idea.

* * *

As expected, Miguel found Cecilia in her laboratory. A burst of laughter assailed the pilot as he walked inside. He entered, finding Cecilia busy working on Lorran who, he knew, had pretended a modification to her left bionic hand.

The young Coordinator was sitting on one of benches, her beautiful legs, barely covered in a pink pleated miniskirt, dangling over the edge. Unnaturally beautiful, with translucent skin and bright red hair, Lorran was the living image of one of those anime girl figures she liked to collect. And, just like those virtual fighters who were equipped with impossible weapons, Lorran exhibited long claws on her left hand. However, those were anything but fake.

Miguel took a moment to observe the scene. The years spent among that particular group of Coordinators did not make it less surreal.

Cecilia had not realized he had entered, as she was busy chatting with Lorran. After the incident in Nassau that had almost took her life, the two had become close friends.

The Coordinator turned her cat's eyes on him, bending her full lips into a sly smile. "Hey, Cecilia, someone came to visit."

On the scientist's face appeared a shade of irritation while she shot a cold glance to Miguel, before immediately returning her attention on Lorran's arm, spraying something on it. "It's ok, we're done here. How do you feel?"

Miguel was not surprised by Cecilia's icy welcome. The modified Coordinators were her only family, while he was just another despicable monkey, as she called the rest of the human race in her bad days.

The redhead extended her left arm, bending her fingers and retracting the claws that disappeared under her fingernails. Lorran whistled in approval. "Flexible as I wanted."

Cecilia nodded. "Your opponent will notice them only when it is too late."

Lorran cheerfully commented, applauding like a child. "Excellent! You know, guns and rifles need ammo, and my missions sometimes impose a dress code that does not hide even a Swiss knife," she concluded winking at Miguel.

A chill run down his spine, but he successful hid his discomfort grinning at Lorran. She was Serpent Tail's best agent when it came to infiltrate into the life –and sometimes beds- of rich warlords and drug merchants. On several occasions Miguel had heard her saying it was funny. Another proof Lorran was insane, exactly like her companions.

The redhead jumped off the counter, grabbed her bag and, while passing next to Miguel, she caressed his left shoulder with the tips of her fingers. "Aww, I'm bored to death, masked man! Why don't you invite me out for dinner?"

Miguel, who had expected such a request, shook his head. "I don't date minors."

"But I'm twenty-seven!"

"So what? It is not my fault if you look seventeen."

And it was absolutely true, but that was not reason Miguel had for years strenuously rejected the court of Lorran.

"I didn't think you were so politically correct," she replied, pouting as if offended and waving her hand. "Hello, sweetheart. Meoww..."

As the door closed, leaving Miguel and Cecilia alone in the laboratory, he finally relaxed.

For Miguel, Lorran was probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. It could not be otherwise, considering the countless reconstructive surgeries she had been through. He could understand how people found her fascinating ―especially someone who did not know _what_ she really was― but he could not forget what lied beneath that flawless skin. Like her companions, Lorran was a compact war machine, or the missing link between the _homo sapiens_ and a multitasking kitchen tool, as Miguel used to joke.

His attention returned on Cecilia who, on the contrary, not only thought those Coordinators were more enjoyable than the rest of the human beings, but who had a regular love story with one of them. Cecilia was still working, her head bent over her inseparable laptop, unaware that Miguel was still in the room. He smiled. She was as crazy as her dolls.

"Doc, you work too much," Miguel said to break her concentration, but he earned only an annoyed look.

"I have to finish this test before Nicol and the others leave. It could be important for their mission."

Of course, when Nicol was concerned everything, even her own well-being, was superfluous.

"Oh come on. The plan is perfect, same for their preparation. I know you are worried, but there's nothing else you can do for them. You should relax and enjoy with your boyfriend the few hours left before the departure."

Cecilia, who was a genius in engineering with the emotional maturity of a sixteen-year-old girl, slightly blushed, not raising her head from the keyboard. "He prefers to stay alone."

Miguel grinned. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. And Cecilia's desolate tone meant she was not happy of Nicol's decision. "You should ask yourself why. Look at you," he said, pointing a finger at her disheveled hair. "You're a disaster."

"And you are being disrespectful," she retorted, finally looking at him. "Whatever. What are you doing here? Apart from being the usual asshole, and peek under Lorran's skirt, was there anything you wanted?"

"Actually, yes. I wanted to do you a favor." That said, Miguel leaned over and grabbed the right wrist of Cecilia, forcing her to stand up. With his free hand he saved the laptop that was falling, placing it on the counter.

She glared at him, aghast. "Are you nuts?"

"No. And, please, stop playing the role of the mad scientist, for once! You are young and in love, after ten years of life in common with Nicol why for tonight don't you show him just how much you care?"

Cecilia opened her mouth, clearly outraged. "I prove that every day. He's _everything_ to me."

Knowing that for Cecilia that 'everything' could be declined in many disturbing ways, and not all related to romantic affection, Miguel shrugged, forcing a devious smile to his lips.

"I know, but he's not only your _work_, Cecilia. Nicol is young and definitely quite attractive."

The blush on her cheeks worsened. "I know!" she protested, but Miguel laughed.

"Glad to know you are conscious of that," he encouraged. "It's the reason why we are on a mission."

"No way!"

"Sure you'll come, or you'll regret it later."

Softened by the confused look on Cecilia's face, Miguel decided to grant her an explanation. "I'll take you to a classy shopping center where I'll help you to buy a nice dress, shoes with heels, and then I'll leave your in the hands of a make-up artist. Then, we'll book a table for two at a restaurant on the bay."

At that point, Miguel saw the woman noticeably tremble. "For me and you?" she stammered.

"No, silly girl, of course NO!" he replied, overcome by a moment of tenderness for Cecilia. Thirty years and still she did not understand a thing about seduction and romance; good for her he was there to solve the situation. Then Miguel gulped, feeling a shiver of panic running down his back. He knew better than to take advantage of Nicol's lover, one who could very well rip his limbs off one by one for daring to touch his precious Cecilia. It was time to leave.

"Come," Miguel hastily ordered her, grabbing her bag and unceremoniously dragging the scientist out of the lab. She looked at him too shocked to react.

While walking, Miguel felt compelled to explain. "Don't you get that the person you love will leave tomorrow for a dangerous mission at the place that was once his home? Where he will likely meet up with his old friends. You should give him a fucking good reason to come back to you, don't you think?"

If before she had look outraged, this time Cecilia narrowed her hazel eyes, hitting Miguel with her bag. "Nicol will never leave me!" she declared, sounding positively sure.

If Cecilia knew of Nicol's past she would have not been that confident, Miguel figured, asking himself what he could say without revealing too much, in particular the reason why he feared Nicol's potential encounter with Athrun Zala. Aware that Cecilia was not immune to jealousy, an only possible explanation came to Miguel's mind. "You talk like this because you do not know Lacus Clyne."

"Who? The former PLANTs' Chairwoman?"

Miguel sighed heavily. He stopped, placing his hands on Cecilia's shoulders. Serious like he was dictating his last will, Miguel looked into her eyes. "One day, Nicol told me a bit of his past. You know, boys' confidences. Apparently, he was a famous pianist and was intimate with Lacus Clyne, who was a singer at the time." It was not completely a lie and, noticing Cecilia go pale, Miguel knew he had hit a sore spot. For good measure, he decided to add other details.

"He confessed he could not play anymore because it reminded him too much of Lacus. Nicol adored her, and she's still a beautiful woman, younger than you with an enchanting voice." With a sorrowful look, Miguel's eyes run down Cecilia's body. "And she's _so_ much curvier than you. Now, you should perfectly know how unpredictable Nicol is…"

A well-studied silence left the rest of the words hanging unsaid between them. Satisfied, Miguel saw Cecilia bearing her teeth like a lioness defending her cub from a predator.

"Thanks for the warning. I don't think I have to worry too much for a mature idol with a silly color of hair, but better to be safe than sorry. Let's go!"

Miguel found himself running after her, laughing to himself; what would have happened if instead of that pitiful lie about Lacus he had instead reveal to Cecilia of Athrun Zala?

* * *

**Notes: usual thanks to my awesome beta Strata-Assassin. I don't know what I'll do without you!**

**Well deserved cookies to all of those are reading, commenting, and favoring this story**


	9. Crucible

******Thanks to Strata-Assassin for the betareading!**

**I modified the document according to her comments, so there might be mistakes here and there. It's all my fault!**

* * *

**Crucible**

**_San Diego, December 9, C.E. 81_**

After four long hours spent with Miguel, Cecilia had decided it would have been better to remain in her laboratory. He had dragged the scientist in places she had never had the motivation to visit in her life: a spa, a beauty salon, a fancy shopping district. It was true her appearances had definitely improved, but she was tired of being pampered by unfamiliar hands and subjected to Miguel's caustic irony.

Cecilia's patience was already very thin when she walked out of the dressing room, desperately trying to pull down the hem of the dress Miguel had insisted she had to try. The blond Coordinator was reclined in a sofa, sipping a cocktail under the adoring gaze of a young shop assistant. The jerk!

Miguel wrinkled his nose when he spotted the scientist, casually brushing his golden bags away from his eyes. "That dress is too long. Show off your legs! Can't you see they are the only part of your body actually worth to be seen? The shorter the merrier!"

Cecilia growled at the insult, launching a pleading glance at the shop assistant.

She shrugged, doing nothing to suppress a wide smile. "Well, you have nice legs, you should listen to your boyfriend here."

Good. So much for female solidarity! Cecilia wondered if in that part of the world a homicide was considered stabbing a couple of annoying people with the stiletto shoes she was wearing. All thing considered, she was only defending herself from sexual persecution. After all she had been through, it was with extreme relief Cecilia saw a familiar youth with pale green hair walking towards them.

"Boyfriend, who?" Nicol appeared next to Miguel's chair. Gingerly, he placed a hand on Miguel's shoulder, squeezing it with enough strength to make the blond pale. "Harassing Cecilia again?" he asked, deceptively nice.

"Actually, I was doing you a favour!" Miguel retorted, eyes darting from Nicol's hand to his face. "But your girlfriend is the stubborn type. What are you doing here, anyway? You are early."

"Didn't you tell me to stop surfing on the social networks? And I broke my laptop."

Something unsaid passed between them that Cecilia could not comprehend but, before she could say anything, Nicol let his hand fall, allowing Miguel to rise from the couch. The former pilot nodded to Cecilia. "Well, have a good night. And don't forget what I suggested to you before. _That_ would really be a blast! Guarantee, top of the list in male fantasies."

Embarrassment overwhelmed the poor woman who could not help but fluster at the thought of what Miguel had recommended her to do. If there was something Cecilia was sure of, it was that having a threesome with Lorran and Nicol would have not helped in keeping her boyfriend.

The green-haired youth watched Miguel leave then gave Cecilia a quizzical look, sensing her awkwardness. The scientist decided a strategic change of subject was in order.

She motioned her dress. "He's truly a jerk! Look at this. It's awful. I'm a grown woman, a skilled scientist. I can't go around in this."

Nicol nodded eagerly. "You are right. It looks like a horse blanket! It doesn't suit you _at all_." Then he flashed a smile at the shop assistant. "Please, miss, can you bring my girlfriend something with a shorter skirt?"

Retiring into the safe harbour of the dressing room, and cursing Miguel's naughty influence over Nicol, Cecilia pretended not to notice the ironic grin on the assistant's face. Definitely she should have never left her laboratory!

* * *

Despite Cecilia's fashion problems –and the high heels that were killing her- the night turned out a success. The sushi dinner in the fancy restaurant suggested by Miguel had been delicious, and when she had proposed Nicol a stroll down La Jolla gardens he had agreed. Too many times during dinner she had noticed him falling silent, eyes looking away, lost in some kind of daydream Cecilia could not comprehend. She was not stupid and, despite Miguel's insinuation about that Lacus Clyne, she knew Nicol was worried for something that went far beyond any former girlfriend he might have had on the PLANTs. But she could not figure out what it was, knowing almost nothing of his past life. Only that he had been an elite pilot and that, by his own admission, 'Nicol' was his real name. Everything else was a mystery that no one helped her to dissipate. Miguel seemed the only one who had known him in person during those days, but he had dismissed her questions saying that information about "red coats", as Coordinators called the top-notch pilots, was classified. In a rare display of professionalism, Miguel had admitted he could not reveal anything.

Leaning against the parapet, high over the black western ocean, Cecilia suppressed a disconsolate scowl.

Next to her, Nicol had his eyes fixed on the horizon, mesmerized by something she could not see nor fathom. Cecilia hated those moments. She was not a nosy woman, and she carefully respected the fact there were things he just could not –or did not want- tell her. But the inability in helping him was another thing. Against those psychological scars, she felt impotent, all of her knowledge useless.

A small smile formed on her lips. She could almost hear her old mentor, Lenk Granato, telling her the only reason she was upset was because her most perfect creature hid a monumental malfunction, an unavoidable fault that rendered the Nexus way less performing then her calculations stated. Like a nasty crack on a marvellous sculpture.

But it was not like that. It was no more like that.

Still proud of her 'dolls', Cecilia did not think anymore they were just her best experiment, deadly dummies with whom she could play. They were her friends, her family, and Nicol, the lover she had never dared to dream of. To guarantee they all came back from their missions safe and sound had always been her priority, more so if, this time, the _job_ implied a whole stroll down memory lane. Just looking at Nicol's face, Cecilia was sure those were not pleasant memories.

"This won't be a mission like any others," she whispered.

"No." Mindlessly, he took her hand, lacing his slender fingers with her ones. "I might meet some of my old comrades."

Cecilia froze, on the one hand relieved he had decided to open up, on the other concerned for what Nicol was about to reveal. She waited with bated breath for him to continue.

"Of course, they think I'm dead."

To stumble into those guys did not sound like a pleasant thing to Nicol. He had muttered those words with a grin of contempt, yet, his tone hid something else. Sorrow, perhaps. Or regret.

"You don't look excited," Cecilia dared to comment.

Nicol shook his head. "I'm not. They are the _last_ people I want to run into. I've made my share of mistakes, but they are also responsible if I'm _here_ now."

Stung by his words, Cecilia leaned against Nicol's shoulder, letting his hand go and slipping an arm around his waist. "Do you hate them?" she bluntly asked. It was not in her temperament to be less than straightforward.

Nicol turned towards her, a thoughtful look on his face. He did not seem displeased, just torn. "I've hated them for years."

"And now?"

Nicol did not reply. His attention returned to the ocean, as if he could find an answer there, while Cecilia stared at him frustrated. It was one of the worst conversation she had ever had with him. It pained the scientist to see her lover so uncertain. And it scared her. Because in Nicol's job indecision led to mistakes. And mistakes to a bullet in the brain.

"You know," she said, trying to sound encouraging. "In my work I can't depend on chances or revelations to obtain a reliable result. And you shouldn't either. What if you'll meet them by chance? Please, reflect upon what could happen. It could be dangerous, for you and your companions."

Nicol gave her a sidelong glance and a edgy smile "Believe me, the last thing I want is to jeopardize the mission. I'll figure out something. Maybe it won't be that bad. There are so many things I'd like to _ask_ them."

Cecilia held his gaze as his smile morphed from tense to mischievous. Nicol had been trained in interrogations and torture and, however hating to resort to these techniques, she knew he could. The scientist returned his smile. To know her lover was mentally prepared to face whatever and whomever he might come across it was reassuring.

"Whatever. Just come back home. It's all I want." She did not care about those mysterious old comrades. If it was true they were to blame they deserved whatever punishment Nicol might think appropriate. Relieved, she placed a light kiss on his neck. "And now let's go. It's late."

Not letting his hand go, Cecilia guided him through the gardens, conscious of the passing, envy glances directed at them. The scientist sighed, lowering her eyes. She had always loathed to be at the center of the attention, but with Nicol it seemed inevitable.

"Did you come by taxi?" she asked him.

"Yes. Miguel told me to, but he didn't explain why.

"You'll see!"

Under his questioning glance Cecilia felt a bit silly but, having his complete attention, she did not care. It was true Nicol had moments when he seemed disconnected from everything, but they never lasted, his natural good temperament always shining through. Sometimes Nicol seemed still a child, enthusiast of everything, especially of silly surprises. And, being a bit immature herself, Cecilia loved that side of him thoroughly.

She dragged him towards the main road, where his early Christmas gift was parked. Cecilia had to admit Miguel had had a good idea. She had ordered the gift two months before, planning to give it to Nicol after the mission, but the blond supervisor had made her change her mind. Looking at Nicol's smiling face, Cecilia knew she had done the right thing. And she did not care the gift had cost her a good part of her savings. Being with Serpent Tail, the money had never been a problem anyway; Cecilia had always gained more than she could spend. Nicol's happiness was ahead of everything.

She knew he could pilot mobile suits no more. He had had a hysteric breakdown the first time they had forced him inside a cockpit, and he only piloted jets if strictly needed for his missions. Still, Nicol had a fascination for sport cars. The fastest the merrier, as Miguel would have said.

The black chassis of the Euroasiatic car shimmered under the lights of the street lamps, attracting many looks. That model usually came in red but, for some reason, Nicol detested cars that color. Or blue. Or white. He only drove black cars, another fixation Cecilia did not want to investigate.

"Do you like it?" she asked, handing him the keys.

The answer was evident in the adoring look Nicol was casting at the black, mechanical beauty. He nodded, opening Cecilia's passenger door and giving her a quick kiss on her lips.

"Sure," he replied. "You'll get your reward later. Now let's try it out."

Sliding in the comfortable leather seat, Cecilia fastened her seatbelt, nervousness starting to kick inside her. She did not share his attraction for fast cars, and the short drive she had had with Miguel that afternoon to retrieve the vehicle from the seller and park it in La Jolla, had been terrifying enough. Oblivious to her torment, in the driver's seat, Nicol started the engine. It came to life with a powerful purr that made the youth laugh with joy. All at once, whatever his fears for the oncoming mission had been, they seemed dissipated. On the contrary, the Natural scientist felt the smile plastered on her face faltering a bit. _'Did they sell me a jet and I didn't know?'_

Nicol waited till they left the city before unleashing all the raw power of the engine. The kick of the acceleration pushed Cecilia back into the seat. She was definitely going to die in that luxury car, and there was nothing she could do about it, nor could she ask Nicol to slow down. Cecilia did want to spoil his fun. Still, there was one last thing she wanted him to know. Her last memorable words.

"Oh, and call it lame, but it's not that bad if you are _here_ now," she commented, her voice quivering more for fear than anything else.

Keeping his eyes on the road Nicol reached over to caress her cheek. "I know. My life would have been boring without you."

"Then promise you won't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Mom! Now, would you please relax?"

Cecilia would have liked to point out it was difficult to do that when straddled aboard a surface-to-surface missile, but she kept quiet. However, when the car hit the first serious turn at more than 124 mph the scientist realized Miguel's first suggestion was probably better than giving Nicol that thing. At least, in a threesome with Lorran the only thing she would have risked was a scratch from the redhead.

* * *

_**Aprilius City, December 15, C.E. 81**_

_'This is an alternate reality. I'm in a time loop and this is not my real universe,' _Athrun thought.

What was happening to him could not be true. Nicol could not really be in front of him, dressed in the black uniform he should have worn had not he been dead. Back on the _Vesalius,_how many times Athrun had heard his younger friend say that once the war was over, he would have applied for a position as a PLANT Supreme Council officer to be helpful to his father? But, back then, not even in his weirdest nightmares Athrun would have dreamed of Nicol dressed like that and pointing a gun at his head.

"Is it really you? Nicol?" Athrun asked.

"Yes. Would you have preferred otherwise?" It was a strange answer Nicol gave him.

Uncertain of what he could do, and holding his breath, Athrun made a step towards his old companion.

It was a mistake.

He felt the bullet pass close to his right ear, almost caressing the skin, the shot smothered by the suppressor of the gun but loud enough to alarm him.

"Don't move," Nicol ordered.

The green-haired youth had shot him without even looking, and Athrun had no doubt Nicol could have hit him if he had wanted. The Orb Admiral uncomfortably flinched, almost not daring to breath. As far as he knew, Nicol was a professional killer and Athrun was positive enough he could not count on their past friendship to have his life spared.

Next to him, Yzak exploded into a dry laugh, shaking Athrun from his stupor. He was pointing his weapon at Nicol, both hands clutched tightly around the stock. "Well, Athrun," he hissed. "You were worried we could kill him, isn't this situation rather ironic? And you? Are you going to shoot us?"

Nicol shook his head. "Not if you lower your gun and get out of my way."

"You'll never get out of here, my men―"

"Neutralized by my companion. Did you think I would come alone?"

"So was the attack at Lacus's hospital really a diversion?" Yzak growled, frustration and anger radiating from him.

"Sure, with computerized machine guns. In any case, she has never been a target for us." A frigid smile touched Nicol's lips. "Now, move away. I just want to leave."

"Wait!" yelled Athrun, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise. That was not even an alternate reality, but just a surreal nightmare where the friend he had mourned for years had come back from the grave for a belated retribution. What was the sense of that mundane conversation Yzak and Nicol were having? Ten years of separation and they were talking about shooting each other? Athrun stared at the young man before him. Nicol, who had yet to make eye contact with him, looked so different from the boy who resided in Athrun's memories. No more the short, almost feminine-looking pilot with an argentine laughter, but an adult with a lean muscular frame, a lithe feline ready to strike at the slightest provocation. His green hair was cut short and framed a face with altered features compared to those Nicol had sported before the _incident_. Athrun felt a surge of bile in his throat. He could still recognize his old friend, but he was also aware that if Nicol had grown up normally he would have not looked that way. Athrun stared at the hands holding the guns. Were those engineered too? What was the extent of Nicol's mutilations to make him appear so dramatically changed from the boy he had been?

"What are you looking at? Are you so surprised I'm still alive?" Nicol asked him, casting Athrun a quick glance. The receptionist had reported he had grey eyes, but now it appeared Nicol had removed the contacts, and his cat-like eyes added a final touch to his unnatural appearance.

"I saw Kira's blade hit you. The Blitz disintegrated!" Athrun exploded in a hurry, suddenly scared by the look of pure derision appearing on Nicol's face.

"And so?"

Athrun was starting to find that tone unnerving, yet he still did not know what to do. He clenched his fists, trying to stop his hands from shaking. "You were still alive. Why didn't you come back?"

"Don't tell me you missed me!"

"What?" Yzak hissed. "I don't know what you have been through all of these years, but I demand to know―"

"Your curiosity is insulting."

"But keep in mind Athrun is alive by a miracle," Yzkak continued, raising his voice. "After your supposed death, he risked his life to revenge you. He almost killed himself."

Athrun saw Nicol narrowing his eyes. "Yes. _Almost,_" he retorted. "But that didn't happen. Oh no. He didn't die for me, nor had he the guts to kill Kira Yamato."

The tone was not hostile, almost gentle, but there was a purpose behind it, a subtle malevolence that was more than just directed at him. It gave Athrun shivers. "What are you saying?" he managed to utter, deeply shaken by the accusation.

Finally, Nicol's eyes locked into his. "Guess what? When I found out the Strike's pilot was your childhood friend, that Kira Yamato, everything fell into its proper place. The reason why you could not fight him seriously, why you were always so hesitant, and distant from the team you had to command. So different from the guy I came to respect at the Academy." The young man slightly lowered the barrel of the gun, looking unconcerned. "Well, don't tell me now you were not relieved when I died in his place. I bet you'd hate me if something happened to Kira Yamato, am I right?"

Athrun suddenly felt his throat dry. He had always considered one of his biggest mistakes being how he didn't tell Nicol about Kira. The musician surely would have understood and helped, and perhaps that fatal duel could have had a different conclusion. But only in his most horrifying nightmares Athrun had dreaded Nicol would have risen from the grave to accuse him.

"NO!" he cried. "You were so dear to me I didn't want to burden you with my problems. Yes, Kira was a friend, but he was my concern and mine alone."

Nicol's unreadable eyes seemed to study him, without even batting the eyelashes. "Spare me this crap, please," he said, still too calm and too collected. "You didn't say anything because you believed, as everyone else, I wasn't at your level. That I was too young to understand. That you needed to protect me."

Conscious that was the truth, Athrun allowed a slight smile on his lips. "You say like it's a bad thing," he muttered.

"It was. Because I didn't need you to shelter me. I was old enough to be a soldier. Just like you. Or Yzak and Dearka. I despised them but, looking back, their rudeness was less insulting than your condescension." Nicol's voice perceptibly trembled. "You were like a hero to me, Athrun, but, to you, I was not a companion, but just an adoring kid with a cute obsession with playing the piano."

Few times in his life Athrun had felt so ashamed, Nicol's words like nails that crucified him against the crux of his blame. And, to make it worse, his former friend's tone had sounded irritate but not particularly rancorous as if, through the years, the accusation itself had lost any meaning. Did that imply none of them were important for Nicol anymore, not even to hate? It could be, considering the detached way the green-haired youth was looking at them, as if they were nothing more than two inanimate objects placed in the middle of the parking lot. _Insignificant_.

As if he had read his mind, Nicol smiled. "For that I've hated you for years, Athrun Zala, but not anymore. Now I don't care. You are nobody to me."

Athrun could not accept it. Trying to retain his composure, he stared at Nicol. The former musician seemed to have already judged him, so he had nothing to lose speaking straight. "You asked me about Kira. Let me tell you that if he'd have been the one to die that day I would have mourned his death as I mourned yours. And my life would have never been the same, as after you were gone. But we were fighting a war, and I realized when I saw the Blitz's wreckage that to see my friends die was the price I had to pay for revenging my mother's loss at Junius Seven. Isn't it tragically ironic?" Athrun felt his voice shake. "Don't believe me if you don't want to but, I swear to you, Kira was ready to kill me that day, and you _really_saved my life. Have you ever regretted what you did?"

Nicol's answer was unhesitant. "Every day, Athrun."

That reply hit him with the violence of a freight train. Athrun winced at the hostility in Nicol's tone, stung by it. A few feet separated them, and Athrun saw Nicol tighten his grip on the gun pointed at his head. The green-haired youth seemed to have forgotten Yzak, who stood in frozen silence, next to Athrun.

"I didn't want to die," Nicol said. "I wanted to grow up and I wanted to see my family again. I wanted to go to the college after the war and do something good for the PLANTs. For that reason I joined ZAFT, didn't I tell you a few hours before the… accident? I knew the risks, but I never longed for my death. Call me a coward if you want," he spat, glancing at Yzak as if to challenge him to say something. "But I'm not ashamed to tell you I regret it, Athrun. Not to have saved your life, but to have lost mine that way." A malicious grin bent Nicol's lips, as if he was savoring some illicit thought. "I should have paid more attention to the Strike. In the end, if someone has to die for your country, better be the enemy. Not you."

Athrun felt overwhelming guilt. And _fear_. It was so primal he had to force himself not to make a step back. Shiho had been right all along, and that was no more the Nicol Amalfi he knew, but a complete stranger. A dangerous stranger, perhaps not even completely in his right mind.

"Nicol, what have they done to you?" he murmured, the distance between the gentle kid who resided in his memories and the bitter man in front of him almost too great to tolerate.

"You don't want to know, Athrun, believe me. But, all things considered, I'm grateful to them for saving my life."

"Grateful?" Yzak grunted. "For turning you into a cold-blooded killer? In someone who has no problem shooting a defenseless woman?"

"With that trajectory Lacus Clyne would have never died." Nicol replied, eyeing Yzak warily. "Besides, she was in my way. Lucky for her I don't kill Coordinators."

Much to Athrun's dismay, Yzak seemed to have lost any prudence. Gun still pointed at Nicol, he dangerously lowered his voice. "All right, and what about Meyrin? She's still alive, but disfigured."

Athrun saw Nicol tilt his head in a very curious and somewhat stiff way, as if the joints of his neck responded to a different physiology than the rest of the human race. "Who? The redhead?" Nicol asked. "Nothing plastic surgery can mend, I've seen worst scars completely healed, believe me." He shrugged. "Hey, I know my job, I was aware with that angle of impact she just risked a concussion and some lost teeth. An acceptable loss if you're a soldier, isn't it, Commander Joule?" _  
_  
Athrun paled, conscious Nicol was doing his best to press Yzak down the path of one of his monumental rages. Not that his silver-haired friend was doing anything to control himself. He sounded well past the point of no return.

"What are you talking about, freak?" Yzak yelled. "Those are people, not objects." His lips curled into a disgusted grimace. "Or was your companion also an object no more useful for your mission? The guy you reduced to ashes."

As expected as at it was, the sound of the shot startled Athrun anyway. He saw Yzak collapsing on his knees with a yelp of pain, clutching his bloodied hand that, until a few seconds before, had held the gun.

Slowly, Nicol approached him and lowered one of his guns to Yzak's head.

The angry look Yzak shot him seemed to have no effect on the green-haired youth.

On the contrary, Nicol affably smiled. "Now, Yzak, why don't you plead for your life? Show us who is the coward."

Athrun decided he could no longer stand by and watch. Silently he cursed Yzak's bad and, heedless of the fact he was still under fire, he approached Nicol who gave the Orb Admiral a sidelong glance, doing nothing to stop him.

"Leave him alone. I'm the only one to blame. It is only because you wanted to save me that you―"

The lovely smile on Nicol lips did not falter as he slightly shook his head, without losing eye contact with Yzak. "Not only that, I knew I wasn't the best of the pilots, and that all of you thought I did not deserve the Blitz, but I wanted to prove you wrong. I was aware I had no hopes against the Strike, but if I'd done nothing in that moment, I would have had not only your death on my conscience, but what would Dearka and Yzak think of me? I was good at hiding it, but I could not tolerate their contempt anymore."

Nicol's words almost perfectly balanced with what Yzak had confessed to him a few hours before; so much that Athrun sadly smiled, at a real loss of anything that could mend each other's scars. For a surreal moment, he wished Lacus was there. She never seemed stuck in those awkward moments, her ability to always say the right words at the right time legendary.

"How pathetic," Yzak hissed, regaining his ability to always say the worst thing at the worst possible moment. "Is it because you failed as a pilot that you decided to become a killer? I hope you're enjoying your new life." He rose to his feet, open hostility and staunch defiance in his posture. "Go on. Do something as stupid as shooting us and I promise you'll never see Earth again."

Nicol blinked, seemed stunned by something. He glanced at Athrun, then his attention returned on Yzak. "You have not changed, Yzak Joule. After so many years you can still drive me crazy enough do to insane things." Incredibly, the green-haired youth quietly laughed. And it was not the sour sound that Athrun had expected, but it struck him with a subtle contentment. "Yes, Yzak. I _love _my new life on Earth and I don't want to ruin everything for something that belongs to my past," Nicol said in a morbid tone. The former ZAFT pilot lowered both guns. "Enough is enough. The one up there was my friend, and I killed him. I do not desire the same for you. Get out of my way. I just… just want to go home and never see you again."

"Wait," Athrun exclaimed, searching in his heart something, _anything_ meaningful to say. Even if Nicol seemed to have abandoned any pretense of indifference or confrontation with them, Athrun could not let him go like that; he had already too many things to regret in life, and now that fate had offered him the chance to mend just one of his several mistakes, he could not forfeit it. "Let me tell you at least one thing," the Orb Admiral firmly said, forcing himself to look intently into Nicol's disturbing eyes. "What happened to you was horrible. The incident, and what happened after. But none of us is really to blame. Not us, nor you or Kira. We were at war, and too young to face the consequences. You're right, I should have talked to you, told you about Kira. Also, I should have not let Yzak and Dearka tease you when you were always the one to support me against them. You―"

"And you'd have wasted your time!" Yzak barked. "Athrun, are you already forgetting the most important thing I told you earlier? What Le Creuset thought of him?" He pointed a finger against Nicol. "You know, our sweet pianist here has always been much stronger than you, and he had showed it surviving his death. There was no need to look after him. He was a soldier! A Red Coat nonetheless. He could very well defend himself if he thought so."

The Orb Admiral's eyes widened in surprise while Nicol scowled at Yzak, who quickly closed the distance between them. "Until ten minutes ago I thought, no, I was _hoping_they had brainwashed you. But your petty chatting shows you're fucking insane."

"Enough Yzak!" Athrun yelled, stunned by Yzak's ridiculous and dangerous reaction. Watching him venting all the anger he had harbored in the past hours, Athrun wondered if they would come out alive.

"How dare youto come back here, attacking us, after all the years we mourned your loss?" Yzak shouted in Nicol's face, without eliciting any response. The green-haired youth seemed equally at loss, as if he had not anticipated Yzak's boldness.

"How can you insult Athrun for what he did? After all he went through because of your stupidity!"

Yzak reached out and grabbed Nicol by the collar of the uniform, pulling the green-haired youth towards him. Yzak was taller than Nicol, who had to raise his eyes to look at him. Not that the former pianist looked less menacing. Athrun held his breath. If Nicol wanted to break free from Yzak's grasp he could have done it easily, so the Orb Admiral feared the reason why he was enduring that treatment. It was impossible to tell what Nicol was thinking by merely looking at his face.

"All right," Yzak continued," it was heroic. You went down with a bang, but like a real idiot. What did you have in mind to appear before the Strike in that way? Why you did nothing to avoid Kira's sword? That move was so predictable! Were you composing your fucking music during our fencing classes? And why didn't you coordinate the attack with us? We could have hit it together!" The silver-haired Commander raised his other injured hand to grab Nicol's uniform, shaking him as if Nicol was nothing but a ragdoll.

Concerned beyond words could tell, Athrun tried to prevent Yzak's suicide. In two steps he reached him, closing his fingers around Yzak's forearm. "Stop it!"

Fuelled by his rage, Yzak shoved Athrun away. "Shut up! It's my turn to stir up the past!" he roared, not paying the slightest attention to Athrun's interruption. "Yes, together we could have made it! Too bad you had to play the hero of the day and, worse, using that weapon fitted for a coward in the worst possible way." Yzak lunged forward, his face just inches from Nicol's. "Sure you stunned me because I could not believe one of my companions, the third in line of ZAFT Academy's best students, could have done something so idiotic."

Yzak ended his tirade almost howling at Nicol, who seemed impressed by those words. He simply tilted his head once again, pale lips stretching in a smirk that was still not a smile, but close enough.

"I knew it, Yzak..."

"What?"

"That you'd have called me an idiot and a coward as soon as we had a decent conversation." Nicol chuckled. "After so many years you are still so predictable."

"Are you kidding me? Bastard! And I've even cried for you..."

Athrun gasped while Yzak, eventually realizing the weakness he had just admitted, flushed. Then, showing all of his disgust, the silver-haired Commander hit Nicol hard across the face with the back of his hand.

_'We're fucked..._' Athrun could not help but thinking, unable to find a way out from that disaster. He could hear Yzak's heavy breathing, and see how his fists were shaking from the tension. In front of him, Nicol brought a hand to his face.

"Great," he muttered. "Now you have two hands injured. It hurts, doesn't it? My bones are reinforced with chrome-cobalt-molybdenum. Unbreakable, or so they told me." Nicol shrugged. "You are right. All of this bickering is so childish and useless, and none of us can change the past, but I suppose now that we all have proven our points, we could… well… move on."

Yzak visibly tensed. "You are nuts if you think I'm going to forgive you like when we were cadets at the Academy."

"Oh, please. You made my life a hell there, and just because I was younger than you and already one of the best students. Forgiveness has never been your gift, Joule."

"Do you speak from experience, Amalfi?"

The surreal conversation was broken by Nicol's laughing, devoid of malice and so similar to the merry sound that always accompanied the gentle pianist back in their training days. Although Nicol's sudden change of attitude was disconcerting –and could very well be a charade- a feeble seed of hope started to flourish inside of Athrun, but he did not allowed himself to relax. Just not yet.

"Stupid idiot, what did you want to achieve, showing up in this way..." Yzak mumbled, gritting his teeth.

"I had a mission."

"This doesn't authorize you to treat me and Athrun like shit, and to disrupt the security protocols of the city _I_have to protect."

"Duty always comes first, right? Or is it your pride?" Nicol laughed again. "Challenge me to a duel if my presence here bothers you so much."

"Of course! And don't even think you can beat the crap out of me just because you have engineered limbs. You'll be sorely disappointed, sort of hi-tech jerk," Yzak growled, the corners of his lips quivering as if he was doing everything to suppress a smile or, more likely, a whole new volley of invectives.

Athrun flinched at the insult, but he could not hide a sigh of relief when Nicol embraced Yzak; the surprise of the ZAFT Commander evident in his pose, rigid as if he had a metal spine, and not Nicol.

"Yes, sure, I suppose I can disable one thing or two," the green-haired youth retorted in a light tone, turning his head over Yzak's shoulder to glance at Athrun.

Sighing, the Orb Admiral found himself fighting back the tears. "Are you really back?"

"In some sense. But I need to talk to you. _Alone_."

Athrun nodded, his eyes running from his long lost friend's face to the guns he was still holding: the evidence that many things had irrevocably changed, and not for the best.

* * *

**Notes: sorry for the long wait! Thanks to all readers and reviewers for the comments and private messages :)  
**

**Ciao!**


	10. Unforgivable

**Betareading by ****Strata-Assassin**  


**Unforgivable**

_**San Diego****, December 15, C.E. 81**_

Miguel still remembered when, eight years before, a high ranking member of Serpent Tail approached him proposing a new, exciting job. _Yes_. While watching Cecilia's face stained with tears, Miguel clearly remembered that guy had used that very word, _excited_, to lure him into accepting what had then turned into being babysitting for years a bunch of cybernetic thugs and their sociopath creator.

The former ZAFT pilot observed Cecilia noisily blowing her nose, struck by the thought of how he hated that job, especially when he had to report the scientist the loss of one of her precious 'dolls'.

"How come… Lex was one of the best ones," she said through deep sobs.

"I've already told you three times, Cecilia. Last night Nicol's briefing was extremely succinct. He only wrote me Lex was dead. But the mission was a success."

"As if I care for your fucking mission!" she cried, launching a soaked tissue against Miguel's head. "Next time it could be Nicol's turn, can't you see it?"

And, in the end, it all came back to that, Miguel realized watching Cecilia frantically rummaging the pockets of her lab coat for another tissue. As much as Cecilia cared for all of her creatures, Nicol was still her favorite one. Miguel already knew what her next question would be.

"When are he and Riko coming back home?"

She was so predictable sometimes. Miguel allowed a small smile to lighten up his face. "Tomorrow, as scheduled. They need a couple of hours to elude the PLANTs' security forces. The assassination has caused quite a fuss."

A deep crevasse formed between Cecilia's eyebrows. She was not satisfied with that generic answer. "How unexpected," the scientist commented with sharp sarcasm. "What else?"

"I've already told you everything I know," Miguel replied, shaking his head and trying to appear convincing. It was not true, but he was sure he could no reveal Cecila what Nicol had added in his briefing. That he had met 'pretty eyes Zala'.

"You are hiding something."

"And since when are you so nosy about a mission? Ask the details from your boyfriend when he comes back!"

"Sure. _If_ he'll be back," she howled, erupting in a new volley of sobs.

Cecilia's childish behavior was starting to grate on Miguel's nerves. He waited for the scientist to calm down before to try to reason with her. "Cecilia, look, Nicol was born there, but his life is on Earth now. You and the other guys are his family. He won't dump you for the country that abandoned him ten years ago."

Through the tears, Cecilia's brown eyes blazed with anger. "Don't take me for a fool, Miguel. Nicol was the one abandoned because they believed him dead. It was him who decided not to return to the PLANTs when he had the possibility."

"Right. And what does that make you think he would do now?"

"Because at that time he was too young, and hurt by what the Atlantic Federation had done to him," she hissed, shifting from despair to anger. "Because he didn't want to be a specimen anymore. Because you and the rest of the guys in Serpent Tail made him believe he would have been treated as such had he ever set foot on the PLANTs." Cecilia pointed an accusing finger towards him. "You can fool Nicol because he's such a nice boy, but I can see you are just pretending to be his friend, since you are only paid by Serpent Tail to convince him to remain in the organization."

Miguel sighed inwardly, meeting her stern look. Cecilia was a complicated person, and more often than not he did not know how to treat her. Knowing how she genuinely cared for Nicol, Miguel tried to reassure the scientist. "I won't deny Serpent Tail paid me well to infiltrate Blue Cosmos and to coordinate the operation that freed Nicol and the rest of your creations. The high-ups still pay me a crapload of dollars to make sure I supervise your people but, trust me, I _know_ ZAFT would consider them nothing more than weapons. And your companions know it too."

"You sound pretty sure," Cecilia commented. "But how? All things considered, you are all Coordinators. And your kin is known to be very protective towards other Coordinators."

A small, almost derisive smile claimed Miguel's lips. Cecilia did not trust Naturals, but she had developed a funny fondness for Coordinators. Perhaps it was time to correct that inaccuracy. "Listen, Cecilia. When I enlisted in ZAFT I believed their ideals," Miguel admitted, leaning forward on the table and clasping his hands together under his chin. "I _believed_ we, Coordinators, were a superior race, and the Naturals nothing more than educated monkeys. Time and experience proved me wrong. Patrick Zala and Durandal were just as foolish as Blue Cosmos, and I know there are still people like them on the PLANTs, military personnel and scientists who would stop at nothing to get their hands on your creations, even if they are Coordinators too. Because for those criminals the end justify the means." Miguel opened his hands, eyes on the tips of his fingers. "We are _not_ the most perfect beings ever created , but your implants can give us a truly technological advantage over the Naturals. The Atlantic Federation produced the Extended, but they were mentally unstable, unlike Nicol and his companions. They'd be too great a temptation for the ZAFT scientists to study. If they want to remain free, they can't return to the PLANTs. Nicol is well aware of this, I didn't have to convince him." Deciding to be _almost_ honest with her, Miguel nodded. "I was concerned for this mission too, but not because I believed he would abandon Serpent Tail for ZAFT."

A strange, puzzled expression crossed Cecilia's face. "So, what?"

For a moment Miguel considered what he could reveal to her without breaking the promise he had made to Nicol. He could not disclose his past. The former ZAFT pilot smiled to Cecilia. "The first memory I have of your boyfriend is of a jovial boy, barely past his adolescence. He was standing in my office all proud in his uniform and all I could think of was how his surreal hair color didn't match the color of his red coat." Miguel laughed, lost in his memories. "With that girlish voice he had, Nicol spoke too much and too fast of how good his best friend was at the academy. I could have never imagined he would have ended up like this. He was such a happy child." The blond lowered his head, shaking it. "And I'm guilty too, Cecilia. Because back then it was my responsibility to keep the group together. Had I never been shot down in Heliopolis, I probably could have prevented their mistakes."

Miguel saw Cecilia narrowing her eyes. "The night before he left for the PLANTs, Nicol told me he feared meeting his old comrades. The error he made that cost him his life, so to speak, it was also their fault."

Shifting uncomfortably on his seat, and yearning a glass of tequila, Miguel nodded. "It was a difficult group to work with. All of them very bright, but not prepared to be soldiers, _especially_ not prepared to be a team. They bickered all the time like they were still at school, and on the battlefield they didn't always follow orders. I don't know what crossed our commanders' minds to put together such an unstable group of divas, with Nicol and Rusty the quietest of the pack."

Miguel had Cecilia's complete attention. She leaned forward, a hand pressed on her mouth. "What about the friend you mentioned before?" the scientist muttered. "Was he in the same team?"

"Sure. I remember Nicol always following him around. He was one year older than Nicol, the best graduate of the Academy and an impressive pilot. Your boyfriend was very fond of him." Perhaps _too_ fond, Miguel thought, studying Cecilia's expression. He felt he had already spilled too much, but the young woman surprised him.

"Athrun, am I right? Is this his name?" she asked, her face suddenly pale.

He couldn't hide his astonishment. "How do you know it?"

Cecilia rose from her chair, collecting all the wet tissues and taking a few steps to throw them in the trash can. Then she leaned against the wall, hands in the pockets of her white lab coat and a troubled expression on her face.

"Back in Nassau, after the first months of intensive cares and all the implants successfully installed, the order came from the Alliance headquarters to reduce the amount of anxiolytics and beta blockers used to treat the symptoms of PTSD," Cecilia explained, lowering her eyes. To Miguel's surprise, she seemed embarrassed. "Almost all the Coordinators suffered from it, but the military didn't want them to be like the Extendeds, dependent on drugs. Also, they wanted the guys to remember every detail of their deaths. It was a strategy to make them weak and vulnerable. And it worked. I saw strong, arrogant youths crying like stray kittens, imploring us to give them something, anything to make them forget. Nicol woke up every night, always shouting the same thing, 'Athrun run'." Abruptly, Cecilia shot Miguel a hard, rancorous look. "He never told me what was the meaning of that, but it's not hard to figure out. Was saving this Athrun why Nicol ended up in the Alliance's hands?"

Miguel stood up as well, unable to remain seated. It was worse than he had expected. "I'm not sure, I don't know the details…"

A small, malevolent smile claimed Cecilia's lips "Whatever. I'm wondering if this guy would survive the experience, if they'd ever met on the PLANTs."

"This is exactly why I was so worried for this mission!" Miguel exclaimed, raising his hands. Nicol had mentioned in his briefing he had already met Athrun, but he had not specifically elaborated on the conditions he had left his former blue-haired friend. "Cecilia, they'll already have enough troubles leaving Aprilius One after _one_ homicide. I don't even want to think of what could happen if Nicol killed the son of the former PLANTs Chairman, Patrick Zala. Not that I really believe he'd do that."

"No?" she asked, incredulous.

"Come on, you know your lover is not that vindictive." Miguel shook his head, hoping his assumptions were right. "Nicol has changed _a lot _from when we were both in ZAFT; he has become less naïve, more cynical, less prone to forgiveness, but he's not cruel without a reason. He had been an unfortunate kid with the ultimate chance to get a new life here on Earth, and he won't forfeit everything for a mindless retribution that would serve him nothing. Besides, if Nicol really wanted to take revenge on Athrun, he could have done it in the past. After the end of the war, Athrun moved to Orb and he's been living there with his family ever since. Nicol knows it and, yet, he has done nothing."

Cecilia had the strangest look on her face, an unsettling mixture of relief and disappointment. "Actually… he told me if he ever happened to meet those guys, he just wanted to talk."

Miguel felt the corners of his lips twitch. Over the years he could name at least a couple of people with whom Nicol _just_ wanted to speak and who ended up dead. Did it count they were former Blue Cosmos members? Miguel was not sure as he approached Cecilia, placing a hand on the wall right beside her head. "See? Nicol is still the sensible boy I met so many years ago. He won't bring you Athrun Zala's head as a souvenir."

"He _should_," the scientist exclaimed in a cold, unforgiving tone. "This Athrun guy made Nicol suffer too much. You weren't there at the beginning. You can't understand how wretched he was. It was something that went beyond the physical pain. And there was _nothing_ I could do to make him feel better."

He should have known, Miguel thought raising his eyes to the ceiling. Damn that detestable woman and her creepy protective nature. "Cecilia, you have the strangest way to express your devotion for Nicol. Which woman craves for her boyfriend to be an assassin? What did you tell him?"

"He's already an assassin, thanks to you." She dismissed Miguel's accusation with a shrug. "Rest assured I didn't ask Nicol to bring me the corpses of these old comrades as a proof of his love. I just urged him to come back home safe and sound!"

"That's the way, Cecilia!" Miguel roared, placing a hand on her shoulder. Some may think her appearance was quite ordinary for a Natural, but for his standards the scientist was one of the most horrible-looking women he had ever seen. However, Cecilia's vibrant personality and sharp intelligence compensate more than enough. It was funny to tease her when Nicol was not around. Miguel leaned towards her. "Now, to celebrate his return would you enjoy a drink with me?"

As expected the scientist sneered, pushing him away. "I'll wait for Nicol to be home. But be sure it'll be a _private_ party. And don't forget Lex is dead, there's nothing to celebrate now."

"Let's honor him with a good tequila!"

Without replying she squared her bony shoulders, leaving the room walking as a military on parade. Miguel smiled at the sight. Cecilia would have been a formidable commander. His smile did not last, though, vanished as soon as he realized that. Despite what he had told her, Nicol was everything but mentally stable, his issues with his past life impossible to eradicate. And from Cecilia's perplexed face, she might know too.

Tired by the exhausting conversation, Miguel leaned heavily against the wall. Athrun might be still alive, but the mercenary wondered if all of his limbs were still connected to his body.

* * *

_**Aprilius City, December 16, C.E.81**_

The decision to let Nicol and his companion escape had cost Yzak, but Athrun had been irremovable. And, all things considered, it was very unlikely that with _two_ hands injured, Yzak alone could stop them. Athrun with Commander Kappler had even insisted that he would be held solely responsible if the terrorists had vanished. The older man had listened with a curious, knowingly frown, while Dr. Zimmer's had raged at Athrun, promising he was going to have his skin made into several pair of boots. However, no threats could change Athrun's mind for he was going to meet Nicol, alone, and it was all that mattered.

They met at dawn, in the outskirts of the city while the computer controlling the sky of Aprilius One had just began to lighten up the heavens. Noticing Nicol waiting for him at a designated bus stop ―ironically, the same from which they used to take the bus to the ZAFT Academy― Athrun stopped the car. His former friend was wearing a pair of grey pants and a black sport jacket, almost identical to the one he had dressed in the day of the attack.

The Admiral had not slept well the night before and, opening the car door, Athrun felt the nervousness kick in. Nicol, who sported a pair of green contacts, welcomed him with a pale smile probably intended to be reassuring, but that Athrun found too formal and chilly.

"Nice car. Can I drive it?" Nicol surprising asked him.

Too stunned to ask why, Athrun nodded. "Sure."

With only a passing thought at Cagalli ―she would call him names for being that foolish― Athrun sat in the passenger seat, watching Nicol adjusting the steering wheel and fastening the seatbelt. He could not tear his eyes away from the youth whose 'death' had hunted him for years. The temptation to embrace Nicol was strong, yet Athrun ignored it. It was still too soon.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

Nicol's eyes remained on the dashboard. "To the cemetery," he replied starting the engine.

With a disconsolate frown, Athrun's attention focused on the street. He found that idea macabre but he tried to put a brave face on. "It's very kind of you to visit Rusty and Miguel's graves."

"And mine."

Without commenting, Athrun's attention returned on Nicol. His voice, tense and low, revealed his inner turmoil.

"I really died that day, Athrun," Nicol whispered. "Don't even think for a minute I'm the same person who was your companion aboard the _Vesalius_. I'm not. I _can't_ be him. I was created from his remains, get used to it."

What was that? A case of split personality or was his former friend unconsciously trying to separate his younger, nicer self, from his new nature? Athrun could not figure it out, but he was sure Nicol's appearances did not help him to retain his sanity. The youth carried an eerie aura of oddness, fascinating and horrifying at the same time, now evident to Athrun because he knew Nicol's secret. Who looked fairly normal, yet there were little, creepy details that were not, like the way he stared at the street without batting the eyelashes or the unblemished, translucent quality of his skin. It was too perfect, even for a Coordinator.

Probably aware he had Athrun's eyes on him, Nicol smiled. "Do you find me repulsive, Athrun?"

"Not at all," the Admiral admitted, carefully choosing his words. "But you don't appear ordinary either, at least to me."

"I know. This project had a code, but we were all nicknamed 'war dolls'. I suppose it was fairly correct, considering our appearances."

Athrun glanced at the speedometer. They were already far beyond the limits. He did not think Nicol was used to driving that fast. Another thing that had changed through the years, probably.

"Would you tell me more of this?" he asked. It was a promise Athrun had made Yzak, to try to discover as much as possible about Nicol's past and why he had assassinated the former Prime Minister of the Euroasiatic Federation. Worried like a protective wife, Yzak had also insisted Athrun carry a bug embedded in his shirt.

Nicol did not reply. For a couple of minutes he continued to drive along the street runs over the artificial sea of Aprilius One. The sky was brighter now, golden with streaks of pale pink, and it reflected on the waters that at the horizon were outlined by a brilliant line. It marked the spot where the waves met the walls of that PLANT. It gave Athrun shivers to think that, ten years before, Nicol was used to wake him up before dawn to take the first bus to the Academy just to admire that same scenery.

A scenic overlook appeared on the side of the street and, all of a sudden, Nicol steered the wheel and braked. Athrun felt the car spinning out of control but, somehow, his green-haired companion managed to stop.

Shocked, Athrun looked at him, mouth agape. "Where did you learn to drive like this?"

"Car chase training. Not like piloting a mobile suit in space but fun enough."

Leaving the car, Nicol openly smiled to him and to Athrun it was like a beam of sun that peaks through the clouds. Nicol had always had the cutest of smiles and his serene appearance had been the first thing Athrun had noticed in his young companion the first day at the Academy. Even in his dying moments Nicol was smiling to him. Athrun followed the former pianist out of the car, sadly noticing Nicol had grown serious again.

He walked to the railing, heavily leaning against it. "To visit my grave. Such a demented idea…" Athrun heard Nicol mutter. The youth appeared mortified. "I changed my mind. Would you say hi to Rusty for me? I can't do it."

"Of course."

"It's so strange to be here, I can understand now why Naturals called the PLANTs claustrophobic cages," Nicol said, abruptly changing the subject. "Even this sea is nothing but a small lake compared to those on Earth. They are awesome."

Athrun felt the same, after so many years spent in Orb. "You are right. And every time I visit the PLANTs they look smaller to me, it's weird." He smiled at Nicol, who was still gazing at the horizon. "I remember you were enthusiastic to descend to Earth and to see the oceans. You always talked about that on the _Vesalius_, much to Yzak's annoyance."

"He was so boring! Only blabbing about his revenge. It's incredible how he survived that war. And he made an impressive career, he's wearing the white coat now."

"Yes. He was promoted Commander immediately after the Bloody Valentine War. He was even on the Council for a short while. Not that through the years he has lost his bad temper though."

The joke made Nicol chuckle so, reassured by his apparent tranquility, Athrun gathered all the courage he could muster. "And you? What about you?" he wearily asked, as if he was walking on thin ice.

Nicol's emerald eyes turned on him. "I'm working for Serpent Tail. And in my spare time I study medicine at the university. Don't look that surprised, please. It's not that I want to be a killer for all of my life."

"Yesterday you seemed quite proud."

"I am, Athrun," Nicol replied, with the quiet confidence of someone who knows he is doing the right thing. "Believe me or not, but I love what I do for Serpent Tail. And, I assure you, our mission is solely to keep the PLANTs safe. Have you ever stopped to think about why in the latest years no Blue Cosmos activity has been reported?"

"Yes, I did. But I suppose it's because police forces had kept a strict eye on the stray cells, occasionally sending someone to jail."

"And do you think it was enough to control an underground political movement of that importance, even after Logos was obliterated?"

An awkward silence fell between them, so profound Athrun could hear the call of the seagulls flying over the cliff. He recalled some weird reports the Interpol had sent him through the years. People with clear connections to Logos and Blue Cosmos were being mysteriously killed in their mansions despite the rigorous security, or murdered in public in what had seemed like well conceived terroristic attacks. Looking into Nicol's expressionless eyes, Athrun realized those were probably not terroristic attacks _at all_.

He breathed hard, feeling a too familiar cold knot in his stomach. Why was someone like Nicol reduced to doing something like that? Athrun stared at his former friend's face, trying to spot a ghost of remorse, but he found none.

"Did you assassinate in cold blood―"

Nicol did not let him finish. "Yes, I did. I killed people who would have had no problem slaughtering you and your beautiful family just because you are a Coordinator. It's our priority to sterilize every treat to the PLANTs, like that Euroasiatic guy the Council was hosting here. Couldn't they see his mere presence was ruining the PLANTs' relations with the Atlantic Federation? We simply removed the problem. It's no different from when we were fighting together, Athrun."

"It is. We were soldiers back then. We were fighting a war." Athrun tighten his lips, surprised by Nicol's coldness to speak with such indifference of selective murders.

Nicol shook his head. "Given your position in the Orb's government you should know fairy well that the war won't finish as long as there are PLANTs' enemies around. And, as far as I'm concerned, I'm _still _a soldier. I'd have liked a different life, but mine and your childish mistakes back then made it impossible. Now I'm only putting my 'talents' to good use." He opened his arms, indicating the horizon. "Look at this beautiful place. I can't come back here, but in my heart it will always hold a special place. I'll do everything to protect it, even if my very companions betrayed and abandoned me."

And, in the end, it all came back to that. Athrun was sure he would continued to blame himself, even if Nicol was back, because the green-haired youth was the living proof of how his confusion and incapacity to take a decision had ruined someone else's life.

"Why do you say you can't came back home?" Athrun asked Nicol, the knot in his stomach coiling tighter. "You could choose not to be a killer. You could let your family know you are still alive! Why didn't you contact them?"

His friend turned again to face the sea, rubbing his eyes with the tip of his fingers, a gesture that exuded tiredness and apprehension, belying Nicol's calm façade. "I could not, Athrun. Who do you think manufactured these implants that saved mine and my companions' life? It was Logos itself, with the purpose to use us against the PLANTs."

Athrun felt his heart sink at the thought of what Nicol had had to endure. Everything, from his disconnected behavior to his coldness started to make painful sense. Athrun's eyes run to the sky, now light blue with erratic clouds colored in pink and saffron. It was beautiful, but how painful should be for Nicol to be there, to be at _home_?

The tension was blatant in his voice. "I won't tell you what they made us do for them, during the months when we were their puppets but, after we were free, none of us had the guts to come back here. We were changed, we were _different _from you. In more than one sense. We didn't want to be prisoners and specimens anymore."

"You would have never been―"

"Don't say that. Look at what they did to Lex. It could have been me."

"No!" Athrun pressed. "You're not just anyone, but the son of a former Council member."

Athrun knew he had touched a sore spot when he saw Nicol flinch. The sharp glare the green-haired youth gave him was scary even with the contacts, and Athrun mentally prepared himself to be hit. But Nicol only twisted his lips in a grimace of disgust, hands firmly gripping the handrail.

"Yuri Amalfi's son is _dead_. I know they started a new life on another PLANT, even adopting a child orphaned during the war. They have nothing to do with me anymore. Look at me, Athrun, it's better they remember me as the gentle boy I was, the one who wanted to be a famous pianist, not the war doll I've become."

Athrun could not agree, and he did not understand how Nicol, who still had a father, could refuse to see him, but he decided not to insist any further. Nicol looked strained and Athrun was struck bythe sadness that now filled his tone. Nicol might declare he had nothing in common with the boy who had died to protect him, but his whole demeanor suggested otherwise.

"You are still a gentle guy, Nicol," Athrun admitted. "Or I think I'd be dead."

"Nice guys don't go around cutting people's throats, Athrun," Nicol almost whispered, shaking his head. "But it can't be helped. As for you… none of us can turn back time. Even if I did kill you, nothing would ever change."

"That's why you didn't hurt us yesterday?"

This time, the silence lasted longer before Nicol finally replied, turning again to face him. He appeared serene now, the bright light of the morning shimmering like an intangible halo around his head. "When I discovered who the pilot of the Strike was, my first thought was to make you suffer. All of you. I felt betrayed by the very person I considered more than a friend to me. Then I had more urgent problems to face and, I don't know after how many months, I woke up one day finding I didn't care for you anymore. You were part of the life of someone else. Someone so much nicer than me. Someone who would have forgiven and forgotten what you did to him."

"And you? Wouldn't you do the same?"

Nicol's eyes were locked into his, all the weariness gone. "I can't forget, but I had more time than I wished to think about that incident, and I knew it was also my fault. Now I want to move on. I don't want to be afflicted by that past anymore."

Athrun nodded. "I told you yesterday, we were all too young. Trained to be soldiers, not to face the consequences of the war we were fighting."

Athrun considered for a moment to tell Nicol about Kira's own suffering. Then he decided otherwise. It was still too soon; first, he had to win Nicol's friendship back. God knew how fervently he desired it. The guy before him might have a disturbed personality, but Athrun could still find traces of the Nicol he knew in his behavior; the very fact he and Yzak were still alive proved it. He nodded. "I want to move on too. But I don't want to be part of your past. I cried for you too much," Athrun admitted without shame. "This time I won't let you go."

Nicol surprisingly smiled. He crossed his arms, leaning more comfortably against the handrail. "You sure have changed, Athrun. I'm not used to see you this resolute to get what you want."

"I learned from my mistakes. Besides," Athrun told Nicol while a mischievous grin bended his lips. "You have changed too. You drive like crazy and you change contacts like an idol pop star!"

The green-haired youth brought a hand to his face. "Oh, these? I have a whole collection! They neutralize a bit the efficacy of my implants but I can't walk around with those horrors."

"Those you have today are really nice."

"Yes! Emerald green like your eyes."

For the first time, Nicol looked excited. A slight blush colored his pale cheeks, reminding Athrun of all the times Dearka had insinuated the pianist had a romantic crush on him. As a genuine laughter erupted from Athrun's lips, he finally placed both hands on Nicol's shoulders. "I don't care for what you are, and I respect the decision not to see your family. But don't ever think to disappear again. I _won't_ allow this."

Athrun did not wait for Nicol to elaborate an answer. He embraced him tightly, feeling his friend's shoulders tense under his grip. After what seemed an eternity, Nicol returned his embrace.

The former ZAFT pilot almost caressed Athrun's ear with his lips, as delicate as the kiss of a lover. "It took me years to come to terms with the fact I could not hate you, no matter how cruelly you betrayed me," he whispered. "I missed your friendship much more than I detested you, that's why I'm here now. And you are not dead." Nicol's tone remained sugared, but suddenly his words contradicted the intimacy of the gesture; the hostile edge was unmistakable. "But don't ever think I could forgive who did this to me. I don't care if we were at war, and if he only hit the Blitz to defend himself. Your _friend _took everything from me and made my parents suffer so much my mother nearly died. You can very well consider Lacus' injury a partial compensation for all we had to endure."

Athrun released Nicol from his embrace, looking into his eyes. The green-haired youth was still smiling, still wearing the same sweet expression Athrun had missed so much. But he knew he had not dreamed those words. Nicol meant each one of them.

"So, in the end did you willingly shot Lacus?"

Nicol shrugged. "Not really. She was in between. I've never voluntarily killed a Coordinator, but make sure your friend never crosses my path. I could make an exception. He is _unforgivable_." Then the former pianist turned and walked towards the car. "Come Athrun, I'll take you home." Nicol's blissful laugh resounded in the crispy December morning of Aprilius One. "I promise I'll drive like your grandma."

Athrun had no choice but to follow him, his happiness taunted but not scattered. Life had already taught him her cruel lesson, and Athrun had known for the start that fairytale of the gentle pianist returning from the grave could not end with a "and they lived happily ever after". And maybe Commander Le Creuset had always been right, and the innocent kid Athrun remembered had never existed from the start. Yet, Nicol Amalfi was there in front of him, the loyal companion who had sacrificed his life and his dreams to save him. Athrun, as a bittersweet smile claimed his lips, finally allowed himself to rejoice.

* * *

**Notes: German cinnamon cookies and hot chocolate to Strata-Assassin for the betareading and the useful suggestions! You are awesome :)**

**Hugs to all of those who are reading and commenting this, I appreciate you support! **


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